The Angel and the Phantom
by MaskedLady710
Summary: Christine Daaé hasn't been able to sing for ten years. Can a certain masked Angel of Music help her regain her voice? And what awaits Christine once she takes his hand? Disclaimer: While I don't own the "Phantom of the Opera" musical or original book, this is a retelling I would like to turn into an actual book. This work is copyrighted. 2019 MaskedLady710 All Rights Reserved
1. Chapter 1

_*unveils chandelier* *blasting organ sound* BUUUM! BUM, BUM, BUM, BUM, BUM!_

_No I'm just kidding! If you haven't read the description though, while I do not own the "Phantom of the Opera" musical or original book, this is a retelling not totally reliant on either. I actually would like to turn this into an actual book eventually, so I'm posting the rough draft of it here for feedback. Hope you enjoy the first chapter and the chapters to come!_

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_Théâtre National de l'Opéra  
Paris, France  
Late Summer, 1883_

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Christine yawned, stretched her arms, and then rubbed her eyes as she trudged her way upstairs to her room. Although she had been awake and up and about for just under an hour already, she wished she'd gotten better sleep the night before. This year's summer had been unusually cool, and the draft that had recently made its way into her room certainly didn't help much either. She'd been wondering if she should ask one of the maintenance workers to see if they could fix it. But hers was only one small room in this vast, enormous palace of finery and gilded gold that was the Parisian Opera House, which she'd called home for the last eight years. Though even after all that time, she still sometimes found it ironic that she, a working class girl, could call such a magnificent monument to singing and dance her home.

Shaking her head to refocus on the matter at hand, Christine looked around her room – which was twice as long as it was wide, though it wasn't wide all that much – and soon her eyes landed on the bucket and two scrub-brushes on the side. Just as quickly though, she caught sight of three knives propped up against the wall in a row. Smirking, she didn't hesitate to pick one of the weapons up. The hilt fit into her grasp perfectly, and she felt the smoothness of its blade as she moved two fingers across it, from the hilt to the sharp tip. Without another thought after, she swiftly turned and hurled the knife to the opposite end of the room, where the blade struck and stuck to the makeshift target set up on the wall.

Smiling with satisfaction once she saw she'd hit her mark, Christine strode to the target and pulled the knife from the target, which she then lifted to see the dozens of other scratches from all the other times she'd thrown one. Like scars on human skin, she knew the marks would never fully come out of the wall. Fortunately, no one would ever have to know, and heaven knows what would happen if anyone did. Or so the girl thought until she heard a voice in the doorway behind her.

"Still throwing knives, I see?" the young feminine voice asked before chuckling with amusement.

Christine flinched but then couldn't help but laugh a bit as well when she saw it was an old friend of hers. "Meg!" she exclaimed, trying but failing to sound angry. "Don't startle me like that! You know I scare easily!"

"Forgive me," the girl standing in the doorway continued to laugh, "but I simply couldn't resist!"

"As you usually can't," Christine countered humorously. But she then gave a concerned frown as she added, "I do hope you tell no one of this, though."

"Why would I?" Meg asked. "Who would believe me anyway if I told them I know a simple maid who can throw a knife like a highwayman?"

Christine laughed a little bit again, until she truly took in what Meg had just said, and frowned again. "I hope you aren't poking fun at me."

Meg returned her frown when she realized she'd erred. "Oh, no, of course not," she shook her head. "I'm sorry."

Christine then realized where she too had erred, and shook her head back at Meg. "No," she said, "I mustn't be so sensitive." She then looked fully at her friend and added, "Pardon me though but, what are you doing up here?"

"Oh!" Meg exclaimed as she quickly remembered. She hesitated for a moment though before she replied, "Um, Maman wanted me to tell you that…" She trailed off nervously, before forcing the words out of her mouth. "She said that the new theatre managers and their patron will be coming later today rather than tomorrow as originally planned."

"What?!" Christine asked with shock. "What are you talking about? We already have a new prima donna coming to visit for the first time today! It's going to be hard enough work preparing for that."

"Don't get short with me," Meg defended herself. "I'm simply relaying what she said. As far as I know, she didn't arrange for this. The new theatre patron apparently wished to come today at the last minute."

Christine let out an exasperated sigh. "Then _I_ wish he had thought that through further than he must have! I wouldn't be surprised if he should have no manners at all!"

"Oh come now, Christine," Meg gave a bit of a smirk. "Even if he does turn out to be a rude and stuffy old man, that doesn't mean you should lose your manners as well. Maman doesn't need to manage you as much as she does me!"

Christine couldn't help but chuckle again once she heard that. "You're right," she agreed. "After all, we are both twenty years old."

"And yet Maman insists on grouping me with the younger girls," Meg tried sounding annoyed yet couldn't take the amusement out of her voice. She then stood straight though and added, "But no matter. She wanted me to take you to the dance rooms. She said she will meet with you there to explain your new duties."

Pressing her lips together as she already felt the load of the day's work on her shoulders, Christine said, "I can barely contain my excitement."

"Me neither," Meg then said. "So do hurry, won't you?" Without waiting on her friend, the youthful young lady then started hastening down the stairs. Christine opened her mouth to call for her to wait, but seeing as she was already wasting time just by doing that, she relented and hurried after her. Fortunately, she quickly caught up with Meg, and the two of them made their way through the living quarters of the Opera House side by side.

As they did so, Christine couldn't help but notice – as she oftentimes did – how remarkably different she and Meg were from one another. The girl beside her was already dressed in her white _danseuse_ costume, matching the white ribbon holding her hair in a bun. In the early morning light, her hair was the color of sand on the sunniest beach, and her eyes the color of the blue sky above. All of this reminded Christine of how utterly dull she knew she looked. She wore a common brown dress and a faded apron, identifying her to all as a working maid. And whereas Meg had hair and eyes that would make men flock to her, Christine's eyes were brown, and her lifeless hair the color of mud, as far as she was concerned.

And yet while the girl next to her was at least five times as pretty as she, Christine didn't think she could have asked for a better best friend. Ever since she first came to the Opera House when it was inaugurated eight years ago and had first met Meg, they had grown close enough to consider themselves sisters. Although they were rather different personality and appearance wise, and although they could argue much the same as two sisters could, neither ever had any doubt that the other would be there for them.

Such were Christine's thoughts when she and Meg finally made it to one of the three dance rooms, if the giggling from the young girls already inside was any indication. Meg stopped right next to the open doorway, as if to stay hidden just out of view, and had she not lifted her hand for Christine to see, Christine would have run right into her. She was about to ask what Meg was doing, when the fair-haired girl put her finger to her lips and shushed her slightly. "Three of the girls inside are new," Meg whispered. "Listen!"

Though she was forming an idea of what Meg was talking about, which happened just about every time the troupe of _danseuses_ gained new members, Christine still listened in. The giggling ceased, and the voice of one of the older girls – Martine, Christine recalled her name to be – could be heard.

"Even if there are ghosts on the grounds of the old house," she said, "surely you don't think they'd come to haunt the new one?" Christine's eyes widened slightly, and despite thinking that what she was hearing was nonsense, she couldn't help but listen in further.

"Oh I think so," another girl – Daphné – replied. "And I am willing to wager at least half of the servants do as well!" Gasps and intrigued "ooohhh"'s could be heard.

A slightly younger voice then spoke up, making Christine think she was one of the younger newer girls. "What do you mean?" she asked somewhat nervously. "Are there really ghosts haunting these grounds?"

"I believe it," one of the older girls – Rosalie – said. "In fact, I remember one night in particular, one of the stagehands went to one of the cellars just underneath the house. When he came back up, he looked as pale as a sheet, his eyes wider than I'd ever seen a person's eyes get!"

Three youthful gasps came up, and another older girl – Modeste – quickly spoke right after. "Perhaps it was that ghoul said to dwell in the underground _lake_ this house was built over!"

One of the newer girls gasped again and asked, "This house is standing above a lake? I didn't know that! No one ever said anything!"

"Why would they have?" Rosalie spoke again. "Why would they risk upsetting the ghost living down there?"

Feeling the tension of the situation heating with every word, yet not able to walk away from it, Christine stood still where she was, feeling a bit sorry for what she knew was coming for the new arrivals. "W-what does it do?" one of them asked. "I-if he's, upset, I-I mean?"

"Oh, as long as you stay away from that cellar, he won't be bothered at all," Rosalie replied. "But you wouldn't _dare_ want to actually go in there, especially by yourself, and _especially_ after midnight." Christine gave a confused face as she asked in her mind, _Midnight? Why is it always midnight?_ Nevertheless, she continued to listen, or, rather, at this point, eavesdrop, feeling all the naughtier with every word she heard.

"If you happen to do so," Rosalie spoke on, "if you happen to come across a pair of black eyes against a white face staring _daggers_ at you through the door…" Even if she couldn't actually see it, Christine could feel the shaking of the younger girls inside. Rosalie continued, "If any of that happens to you, then you can look forward to his hands, or worse, his Punjab lasso, wringing your neck until you're strangled!"

Immediately after, as though reacting to someone coming up behind them, the three young girls inside shrieked, and the older girls' laughter followed shortly after. Meg as well was giggling at what she was hearing. And while Christine let out a few chuckles, she had to speak her mind. "A bit mean though, don't you think, Meg?" she asked. "Making up these silly stories to scare every new girl?"

Meg turned around to face her friend, tears starting to form in her eyes. "Oh, it's only a bit of fun!" she exclaimed softly, to keep the girls inside from hearing. "Why not have a little bit of initiation?" _As though it were some sort of secret club_, Christine thought as she rolled her eyes and smirked at her friend's gaiety.

Before either of them could say another word though, both girls jumped slightly and turned around the moment they heard and felt the double tap of a cane on the wooden floor. The two of them found themselves facing a stern-faced older woman, who much resembled Meg, her fading brown hair wrapped in a tight bun and her imposing dark green dress immediately setting her apart from the two young ladies in front of her. Her blue-gray gaze landed on the fair-haired girl as she said in a strict voice, "Meg Giry?"

Gasping lightly at knowing who she was standing before, Meg briefly bowed and breathed, "Maman, pardon me!" As though seeking a way out, she quickly pointed out the girl next to her and hastily added, "I-I've brought Christine, a-as you've asked me to!"

"I see," the woman said, her cold eyes remaining firmly on her daughter, "and I thank you. Now…" She took two steps forward, though Meg didn't dare take two steps back. The older woman, her gaze never leaving Meg, pointed into the room and ordered, "Over to the barre, with the others, if you please. And remain there until I return."

"_Oui_, Maman," Meg nodded, trying to keep her voice from shaking. After briefly bowing again, she hastened into the room, where the other dancers were already assembling at the barre, as though they too had heard the stern mistress outside. Only when her daughter was inside did the older woman turn toward Christine, her somewhat steely face softening slightly.

Nodding deeply in respect, Christine gave a small smile as she greeted her, "Good morning, Madame Giry. Meg said you had sent for me?"

"Good morning, Christine," the ballet mistress greeted her back. "Yes, I have sent for you. I trust Meg has told you that we have more guests coming today than we had originally prepared for?"

"She has," Christine nodded. "The two new theatre managers and their new patron, as well as our newest prima donna come from Milan?"

"Quite," Madame Giry nodded back. "Now, I do beg your pardon for calling on you on such short notice–"

"Oh, think nothing of it Madame, begging your pardon," Christine interrupted her before excusing herself. "I'm always happy to help where and when I can. What is it you need me to do right now?"

Despite having been interrupted, the older woman smiled softly as she replied, "This might sound like a lofty assignment, but I believe you are capable of the task."

Christine stood up a bit straighter and took a step forward, intrigued at what she was hearing. "I'm listening, Madame."

"The new prima donna, Carlotta Giudicelli, is planned to come to the house by the nooning hour," Madame Giry explained. "It is expected that at least one of the serving maids attend to her whenever she is here. After thinking it over, I decided I would hand the over such a position to you, as I have deemed you the most capable for it."

Her dark eyebrows raised and her brown eyes wide, Christine would've staggered slightly if she hadn't the nerve to quickly compose herself. Out of all the things she'd expected to hear from the Madame, she hadn't seen anything like this coming. "You wish for me to attend to Mademoiselle Giudicelli?" she asked in disbelief, her heart starting to pound with anxiety. Changing her tone then, however, she went on to say, "I mean, it certainly is no trouble for me. I've just never had such a big responsibility laid upon me before."

"Nevertheless," Madame Giry said, "I am confident that you will do well. But we have no time to lose." She then pointed down the hallway, indicating to Christine that she was directing her to the opposite side of the building. "The most important matter at hand is that Mademoiselle Giudicelli's new dressing room must be readied for her arrival. She is the most expensive prima donna we have had in years, therefore we absolutely can't afford to make a bad first impression."

"Oh no!" Christine shook her head enthusiastically. "Of course not." She then winced though when she remembered something important. "I'm afraid I left my cleaning tools in my room."

"No need to fetch them," Madame Giry assured her. "Simply ask one of the other maids and I am sure they won't mind lending theirs to you. Either way, I am entrusting this job to you, and I pray that you do well."

Smiling at the rather motherly encouragement from the older woman, Christine nodded. "I will, Madame," she promised. "Thank you. I won't disappoint you." She then nodded deeply one more time and said, "Good day."

"And to you, Christine," Madame Giry nodded back. The two then went their separate ways, the older woman to the ballet room, and Christine toward the opposite half of the Opera House, taking her skirt by her hands as she began to make haste, her heart still pounding nervously against her chest.

After traveling down at least three hallways, she managed to make her way to the first floor. And not too long after, she came to the main centerpiece of the Opera House: the theatre itself. Though hesitant, as she often was whenever she came to this place that felt almost like hallowed ground, Christine forced her feet forward across the stage. Once she made it to the middle of the fine wood floor however, her feet somehow found a mind of their own and stopped, forcing her to look around the giant room that looked as grand as a palace. Although she had been in the theatre itself and even on the stage several times in the years she'd lived here, for whatever reason, it felt so much larger than usual this time.

Her eyes first caught sight of the stage-lights that ran across the front of the floor. Until two years ago, candles waiting to be lit laid inside the sconces. Ever since the house had had electric lights installed, however, lightbulbs had been fitted in in place of the candles. Beyond the stage lay the orchestra pit. And further past that, the dozens if not hundreds of red velvet seats that stretched to the back of the theatre for what felt like a mile. And that was only the first floor of seats. Four more rows shaped like half-circles, bordered with railing and supported by columns of magnificent gilded gold, stretched up to the dome-shaped ceiling, where even more fine, meticulously crafted gilded gold encircled the brightly colored painting that called back the mastery of the Renaissance, and the Opera House's crown jewel in the center: the ornate, beautiful chandelier, shining and sparkling like a giant diamond as it hung rather precariously from the center of the ceiling.

Although the building itself was less than ten years old, whenever Christine walked through this area, she often felt as though she were walking into a great palace from the glory days of Rome. For her, although she had never actually been there, not even Versailles itself could compare to the grand testimony to human engineering and achievement she now beheld. She could only imagine how much more majestic the theatre must look to one performing onstage. While Christine had unfortunately never had that privilege, she sometimes in her spare time couldn't help but imagine the near heavenly glory she knew surrounded the theatre and especially the stage whenever there was a performance. It was something she'd always wished to experience ever since she could remember, whether or not it ever actually did come true.

She was quickly drawn back to the present however when she heard someone whistle at her. Christine turned around and saw one of the stagehands looking at her from the wings. "You just going to stand there or belt somethin' out Mademoiselle?" he asked in jest. Immediately, Christine remembered that she had an assignment to attend to. Without pausing to wonder if the man was merely joking or if he was intending to be vulgar, she took up her skirts again and finally managed to get on her way again, marveling at how she remembered which direction she was supposed to go.

Subtracting the time she spent gazing around the main theatre as though mesmerized, it took about the same time Christine traveled from the ballet room to there to travel from the main theatre to the dressing room for the Opera House's prima donna. There was a bit of a pause when she'd asked one of the maids to lend Christine her tools. When Christine had told her why, the girl – or rather woman, since she was somewhat older – raised her eyebrows at her, chuckled slightly, and wished her "luck," before giving Christine her tools and going away to tend to some other business of the house with another maid. Christine had wondered at the woman's remark ever since. Certainly, she knew that personally attending to the new prima donna would be no simple task. But she knew Madame Giry, wise and careful woman she was, would not have laid this responsibility on her were she not capable of bearing it.

When she finally got to the dressing room itself however, Christine had much the same reaction as when she'd walked across the stage only ten minutes before, even though she'd been in the prima donna's dressing room far less times than she'd been in the main theatre. The room of course was much, much smaller than the main theatre. But it was no less grand. The walls were a soft rose color with gilded gold bordering it at the ceiling. A miniature chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling. Instead of gaslights like the ones in her room, there were electric lamps. There was a luxurious looking chaise longue chair in the rococo style against one wall. A Persian rug containing countless detailed artistic renderings covered the rosewood floor. And of course, at the back of the room itself was the lavish gold and ivory dressing table and massive mirror, one which might be found in the home of a countess, duchess, or even queen.

Christine hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should even dare disturb what seemed to her like perfection. But then she remembered that it simply wouldn't do for the new prima donna to come into a bit of a dusty and unmade dressing room. Thus, Christine rolled up her sleeves, and quickly got to work.

As she did so, as was often the case when she worked, her thoughts began to wander a bit. Much as she wondered what it would be like to be onstage during a performance, she wondered what it would be like to have such a dressing room to herself. Of course, Christine had never truly been much for traditionally feminine things, though, whether this was because of her otherwise unremarkable appearance or simple personality preferences, she couldn't guess. But, while for most of her life she couldn't stand the idea of constantly trying to be the lady when boys got to do mostly fun things, every now and then Christine had wondered what it would be like to look and be treated the lady for at least one night.

Truth be told, she was a bit jealous of Meg and the ballet dancers and how they could mesmerize an entire audience with their otherworldly graceful physicality. With that thought, she felt a slight bitterness as she felt even more envious of how the altos and especially the sopranos in the house could enchant and bless those same audiences simply with the sounds of their voices. Who knew? Perhaps she too would have been one of them, if not for one incident, one painful memory which she'd often tried but never succeeded to fully blot out of her mind. That time when her singing voice was stolen from her and her father was forced to begin an early journey to the grave he now lay in…

Realizing just where her mind was wandering, Christine shook her head in an attempt to skip over that unpleasant event to the slightly happier ones that followed; when she first came to live in the Opera House eight years ago; when she first met Madame Giry, the closest thing she'd ever had to a mother for most of her life, however stern and strict she could be; when she first met her best friend and surrogate sister, Meg; and of course those increasingly rarer times spent with – as well as letters received from – another dear friend of hers…

Just as she was thinking this, Christine heard a rapid knock at the door. Her heartbeat quickening anxiously, she rose to her feet, hastened to the door, and opened it to see another one of the housemaids. "Oh, thank heaven, you're here!" she breathed a sigh of relief. "We've been looking all over for you!"

"What do you mean, you've been looking for me?" Christine asked, her eyes now has wide as the girl's in front of her. "What is it?"

Pointing down the hall frantically, the girl replied, "The new prima donna, Carlotta Giudicelli! Her carriage is pulling up to the Opera House! You're needed!"

Feeling her heart jump in her chest, Christine just barely avoided skipping over her words. "But, but I, I've only just finished scrubbing the floor! What if she slips and falls!"

"Hopefully it'll be dry by the time she gets here!" the girl replied as she pulled Christine out of the room and lightly pushed her down the hall. "Just go! I'll get all of your things out!"

Knowing she had no time to object, which would only be time wasted, Christine nodded. "T-thank you!" she called before gathering her skirt in her hands and not just hastening but running down the hall and then down the stairs.

As she raced through the Opera House, Christine's thoughts raced even faster in all directions, always just out of her grasp. Most annoying. _It's not even the nooning hour yet!_ one of her thoughts objected. _Never mind that!_ another shouted. _You promised Madame Giry you would not disappoint her! Now get moving!_ Heeding that thought in particular, Christine hurried even faster through the house. So much so that by the time she got to the great hall, she very nearly tripped over her skirt, just narrowly avoiding a very uncomfortable trip down the grand staircase. Nevertheless, she kept her speed as she got closer and closer to the main entrance. And yes, indeed, yes! She finally made it to the outside!

And just as she did, Christine caught side of perhaps the most splendid gilded carriage pulled by two pairs of the fanciest white horses she'd laid eyes on coming up to the great stone staircase that graced the front of the Opera House. Somehow, she managed to keep the feeling in her hands as she held her skirt in her grasp and hurried down the stone steps toward the carriage, her heart beating more madly than it had in a long while.

Only when Christine left the last step did she finally let go of her skirt, straighten her posture, and put her hands in front of her to look the serving maid as she walked as hastily as she could toward the carriage, which stopped just as she approached it. Once the carriage halted, the footman got down from his place at the back and strode stiffly to the side door. Once his gloved hand rested on the golden handle he said as though announcing royalty, "The new prima donna of the Paris Opera, Signorina Carlotta Giudicelli!"

Trying her best not to bite her lip or twiddle her fingers, Christine watched as he opened the door. And out came, or rather, out stumbled, what was perhaps the most extravagantly dressed woman she had ever seen. Indeed, Christine thought for a moment that she might fall to the ground below, but she quickly caught hold of the footman's cuff before allowing him, or rather ordering him, to help her straighten upright on her feet.

The woman's face reddened in annoyance as soon as she regained her balance, and with a shrill voice she screeched at the footman, "Is it really that hard to fold my skirt into the carriage in a way that will _not_ make me crash to the ground when I come out of it?!" The footman's face remained expressionless, much as a butler's would, and the woman let out an "Ugh!" of frustration. "Just see to it that it does not happen again!" The footman nodded. And by now, all of Christine's attention was on the woman she had been assigned to attend, the woman she couldn't help but look from head to toe at.

This was Carlotta Giudicelli? She had expected someone of fine taste, but perhaps not this fine. From what Christine could tell, she appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She was slightly plump, as most prima donnas were. Against her cream-colored skin, she wore black gloves and an elaborate dress that Christine thought – but didn't _dare_ comment – was a rather ugly shade of green. When she got to the woman's face, Christine's eyes widened a bit when she saw she was wearing rouge, a bit of a scandalous substance. Her hazel-colored eyes didn't seem to know how to truly smile. Her elegantly styled hair made Christine's eyes widen even more when she saw that it was bright red. Not auburn or chestnut, as one might expect, but true scarlet red. And on top of her hair, she wore a flowery hat that matched the hideous green dress.

"Well, can you speak?" the woman barked in a similar way a poodle might. "Or are you just another dumb and witless girl?"

Although taken back a bit by the woman's attitude and choice of words, Christine nonetheless regained her composure and did her best to keep her voice steady as she replied, "Um, good day, and welcome to our fine Théâtre National de l'Opéra. My name is Christine Daaé, Mademoiselle–"

"_Signorina!_" Carlotta spat at her, rolling her r's for effect. "I am pleased to have a French maid, but I myself am not French! Remember that, wench!"

"Yes, of course, Ma–" Christine shook her head briefly to correct herself, but was only slowly able to say the right word. "Signorina…"

"Good enough," Carlotta said, though she didn't smile or seem satisfied at all. "Let us be going now! This so-called summer weather is getting far too cold!"

Somehow being in the presence of this overly bedecked peacock of a lady made Christine a bit more dimwitted than usual, for only then did she realize something surprising. "You know already? That I am to be your maid, I mean?"

"But of course!" Carlotta replied, incredulous. "Why else could you be here other than to fetch me?" Without pausing, she added, "Take up my skirt train, will you? I do not want to further risk defiling it after what happened just now." Clearly this woman was used to being obeyed at a moment's notice, judging by her commanding tone of voice and the ease with which she spoke it. Still, despite how this self-proclaiming queen was already getting under her skin, Christine remembered the promise she'd made to Madame Giry.

"O-of course, Signorina," she nodded. She then bent down and gathered Carlotta's train in her hands as though she were gathering the train of a bride at her wedding. Again, without pausing, as though she knew that Christine had taken up her train right then and there, Carlotta huffed before taking a hand fan out of her reticule – evidencing that she wasn't truly feeling the unusually cold weather as she'd just said – and then walked on, up the stone steps and toward the main Opera House.

As Christine rolled her eyes in exasperation, she could only hope that Signorina Giudicelli wasn't any more high-maintenance than she was already proven to be. Otherwise, keeping her promise to the ballet mistress would prove far more difficult than she originally thought.

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_Reviews would be appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

Before the afternoon was anywhere close to being over, Christine was beginning to think that the maid who'd earlier wished her luck was right to do so. Never before had she met – let alone attended – a woman more overbearing and self-centered as Carlotta Giudicelli. From the moment Christine had returned to the inside of the Opera House, carrying Carlotta's train and receiving the curious stares of onlookers – while Carlotta ordered them out of the way – she'd let out a sigh as she was already second-guessing her word to Madame Giry. And even more so when she and the new prima donna arrived in the dressing room.

Apparently the woman didn't know how to remove her own belongings from her own person. Christine had had to take Carlotta's gloves off and remove her hat – in the most careful way possible lest she leave one hair out of place – and all the while Carlotta complained like a bratty child who clearly didn't know the rules of social etiquette. In fact, as far as Christine was concerned, small children knew more about social etiquette than this woman did. Even so, she continued to do as Carlotta said, as carefully, and quickly, as possible. In trying to think of any positives, all she could really think of was that there was only one of Carlotta, and not two insufferable stepsisters as was the case with _Cendrillon_, whom Christine was already beginning to empathize with.

Only when Carlotta dismissed her so the former could go practice in one of the rehearsal rooms did Christine feel like she could breathe again. Her eyes, which were starting to feel startlingly dull lit up again when she saw Meg hastened toward her, though the look on Meg's face told her that her friend feared saying the wrong thing. "Um," she started off slowly and awkwardly, "I suppose _Signorina_ Carlotta is proving a _bit_ difficult?"

Grateful to have something to laugh at, if only slightly, Christine chuckled but then frowned again as she replied, "_More_ than a bit difficult." She then noticed though that there were people within earshot. Not wanting whatever she said to be heard by the wrong ears, Christine signed to Meg to keep her voice down as they talked. When Meg seemed to understand, Christine continued. "As far as I'm concerned, the woman has the personality and bearing of a battle-axe!"

"Well, in all fairness," Meg said, still slightly nervous, "what were you expecting, exactly?"

Christine could only shrug her shoulders and sigh. "Yes, I know prima donnas are – for lack of a better word – _delicate_ to handle, but I'm already starting to fear I'll go mad if I merely stand around her long enough!"

"Well, if anything, she's certainly a sight to behold," Meg admitted. "I for one pity whatever poor man ends up being foolish enough to marry her. Other than her attractiveness and soprano specialty, he'll find himself sorely deceived."

Christine lowered her voice even further as she then said, "Truth be told, I'm wondering how she'll be able to sing at all, given how tight her stay-lacings appear!"

The two girls then giggled mischievously at the slightly naughty joke. Christine normally wouldn't have been inclined to speak so. But given how Carlotta was already beginning to drive her crazy, she couldn't resist.

Meg's face softened though as she truly started thinking about her friend's situation. "In any event, I can tell you're having second thoughts about what you promised Maman. Don't try to tell me otherwise!"

"No, I won't," Christine shook her head in defeat. "But one of the most important things I've learned in all my years is that you shouldn't make promises you can't keep. And this is a promise I fully intend to keep, no matter how unbearable it might get."

"Very well," Meg sighed in disbelief. "But you can't tell me I didn't try to warn you and persuade you to abandon it."

Smirking as she felt a challenge in her friend's voice, Christine asked in jest, "And why would I do that? Where would the suspense of the whole situation be otherwise?"

The two of them chuckled together again, until Meg spoke her mind. "Must we continue to keep our voices down though? I think it's time we discussed something else."

"I was just going to say so," Christine nodded, having already thought of something else to talk about. "What do you think the new theater owners and the new patron will be like?"

Now it was Meg's turn to shrug her shoulders. "I'm afraid I have no idea," she admitted. "Though I daresay I will be surprised if any of them turn out to be anything other than rude and stuffy old men."

Christine chuckled again at the joke Meg had already made earlier that day. "Well, your guess is as good as mine, I suppose." Then, after thinking it over for a moment, she smiled sneakily as she added, "Although, they can't truly be any worse than _Signorina prima donna_, can they?"

Meg laughed a bit, trying to draw herself in only when she saw a couple people nearby. "No, I suppose not!" she giggled. Her smile fell slightly though as she further said, "At least, I hope that won't be the case."

Feeling the need to comfort her friend, Christine gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Oh come now," she said, "no need to be all fretful. I'm sure Monsieurs Debienne and Poligny know what they're doing. They're not going to hand the home of the Paris Opera over to just anyone!"

Right then though, Meg put an arm out to stop Christine, hissing, "Wait!"

Christine frowned in confusion. "What is it?" she asked in bewilderment.

"Look around you," Meg replied. "What do you see?" But Christine was already looking around. Everyone they came across seemed to be moving about frantically with rather nervous expressions on their faces, as if…as if someone, or some people, very important were about to arrive.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Christine exclaimed. "They can't have come already!" It seemed clear enough though that they were at least about to, especially when Madame Giry suddenly came into view, yet walked right past the girls as if she hadn't seen them.

Christine was about to call out to her, to ask what was going on, when Meg quietly yet firmly shushed her. "She might not let us see!" she quickly explained. "And I for one am eager to see!"

"But won't we get caught at some point?" Christine asked. "It'll be like eavesdropping, won't it?"

"Leave it all to me," Meg replied, smiling a rather sly smile, almost like that of a skull.

Though Christine still didn't like it, neither could she deny that she too was more than a bit curious. If anything, getting an idea of who these new men were would give her more of an idea of how to make a good impression. As long as Madame Giry didn't see her and Meg anyway. Reluctantly yet bravely, Christine stayed beside Meg as they quietly followed the ballet mistress's path, while staying a safe enough distance away. And all the while, her heart beat faster with every step, not just at hoping they wouldn't get caught, but also in a growing anxiety at wanting to know just what kind of people these new men were, if they were going to be the new owners and managers of the Opera House.

After having managed to follow Madame Giry all the way to the grand staircase, Meg and Christine kept hidden just behind the corridor leading to one of the first hallways. Only when the older woman began her descent down the stars did the two girls begin to emerge from their hiding place. From what they were already beginning to see, a sizable gathering was beginning to form at the base of the staircase. Christine and Meg started scanning the small crowd for any familiar faces.

"Look!" Meg pointed. "There are Monsieurs Debienne and Poligny." Christine was surprised at first, considering the two of them didn't see the pair of theatre managers all that often. But once she looked where Meg was pointing, it didn't take her long to make out the two older men being approached by Madame Giry.

"And what about those two men over there?" Meg pointed again. "Could they be the new owners?" Christine once again looked where her friend was pointing, and saw another pair of men, though a bit younger than Debienne and Poligny, whom they were standing near to.

But just then, Christine caught sight of another face. One that was also masculine, but even younger than the four men she'd already seen…and far more familiar. Though she hadn't seen this particular likeness in a good long while, it didn't take long for Christine to recognize the person to whom it belonged, nor for her to let out a gasp of excited realization. "Christine?" Meg said once she'd heard her. But Christine didn't hear her. Her attention was solely focused on the combination of dark, finely combed hair and handsome blue eyes that went all too well with the boyish smile on his face.

_It cannot be!_ Christine thought. But even as she thought so, she already knew it was. She already knew who this young man was. And why would she not, given all the years they'd spent together? Forgetting she needed to stay hidden and paying no heed to the people at the bottom of the staircase, Christine let out a slight yet thrilled cry before dashing down the stairs toward the young man she was not at all expecting but more than happy to see.

"Raoul!" she called out to him, already a bit breathless. "Is it really you?!"

The young man immediately looked up, and upon seeing her, his eyes too lit up with recognition. "Christine!" he exclaimed, hastening forward to see her.

The two enthusiastically embraced each other like a pair of loving, long-separated siblings – which, in a sense, they were – and both laughed in delight. "Oh, Raoul! I-I just can't believe it!" Christine stammered with excitement. "What on earth are you doing here?!"

His eyes smiled brightly as he chuckled, "Well, I wanted it to be a surprise! And I suppose I've succeeded!"

Christine couldn't help but laugh again, until one of the two younger men she'd seen just a moment ago cleared his throat and spoke up. "If I may, Viscount, just who is this…charming young lady?" Christine froze; and though they tried to hide it, she could hear some people nearby chuckling. Her face turned as red as Carlotta's hair, making her feel on fire with mortification.

"Oh, good heavens, I'm so sorry!" she said softly before backing away one step, then two, away from Raoul. Turning toward the four other men, yet not daring to look at them, she addressed them with an embarrassed voice, "I beg your pardon, Monsieurs. I-I–"

"Oh no, please, Christine," Raoul suddenly interrupted her. "No need to trouble yourself." Hearing the compassion in his voice started to make her feel better, if only slightly. Now, addressing the other men as well, Raoul added, "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce a very good friend of mine, Mademoiselle Christine Daaé."

Christine gave an impulsive yet awkward curtsy, though she was gaining the courage to actually look up at them as she softly said, "My pleasure, Monsieurs–"

They must not have heard her, because one of the newer men interrupted her. "Daaé? Intriguing name, I must say. Are you perhaps a relation to the late violinist, Mademoiselle? Gustave Daaé, was it?"

As he spoke, Christine was finally able to get a good look at him and his partner. While they were certainly older than Raoul, they were also certainly younger than Debienne and Poligny, their hair starting to gray but not by much. One was slightly shorter than the other, a bit inclined toward stoutness, and showing signs of balding. The other by contrast was somewhat tall, even taller than Raoul. Unlike Raoul though, he didn't seem to have as much muscle on him. And unlike his partner, he sported a moustache that was also beginning to gray. Both however, were finely dressed, even more so than Debienne and Poligny – enough to make Christine think they could be quite wealthy – and they both held a hat in one hand and a cane in the other.

There was something else about them too, but Christine pushed the thought aside when she realized he'd spoken to her. "Oh, yes, Monsieur," she nodded. "He was my father." Feeling the need to speak further, she added, "Were it not for Raoul's father, things could have gone in a much different direction for us. A much _worse_ direction, in fact…"

"And that was how we came to know each other, Monsieur," Raoul said further. "Almost fifteen years ago."

Christine let out a soft sigh, both at the realization that it had been almost that long since she and Raoul first met, and at relief that he hadn't mentioned the times they played together. While she would always treasure those days, she didn't exactly want to be known to the two men in front of her as the childhood playmate of Viscount Raoul de Chagny, son of the late Count Philbert de Chagny.

"Indeed," Monsieur Debienne then said. "Neither would we have had the pleasure of housing one of the best violinists we've ever had, if not the best, may he rest in peace." Christine smiled softly at his words, feeling strange comfort at knowing how much the man seemed to esteem her father.

"Pardon my bad manners," Monsieur Poligny suddenly spoke up, "but I believe I've not yet introduced these two fine men with us." Both Raoul and Christine raised their eyebrows in surprise when they realized he hadn't. Standing next to the other pair of men, Poligny said, "Lord Viscount, it is my pleasure to introduce the new managers of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra, Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles André." He gestured first to the stout man and then to the tall man. Then he gestured toward Raoul and added, "Monsieurs, it is also my pleasure to introduce Viscount Raoul de Chagny, our newest patron."

As Raoul shook hands with Monsieurs Firmin and André, Christine's eyes went wide with surprise. She was so caught off guard she didn't hear Debienne offer the two men a tour around the building, but went immediately to the Viscount once he stopped shaking hands with them. Laying her hand on his forearm, she asked, "Raoul, pardon me but, is this true?"

"Lord Viscount?" Debienne then said, his raised eyebrows asking if he would care to join them.

"Just a moment, gentlemen," Raoul replied. "I won't be long, I promise." He then turned back toward Christine, and offered his arm. Though not expecting it, Christine smiled as she linked her arm with his, and they started forward, not too long behind the four older men.

But she then frowned as she realized she'd forgotten her social etiquette again just now. "Forgive me, Raoul, but–"

"Oh no, it's no trouble at all," Raoul stopped her, still smiling at her. "In fact, I was expecting you to ask me about it."

"But I had no idea that you were going to be the new patron of the Opera House!" Christine said, slowly regaining her smile. "Why didn't you tell…" She trailed off as realization dawned on her, and she further said, "Oh I see, this was part of your surprise, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was!" Raoul chuckled as he replied. Shortly after though, his grin quickly fell, and he added, "Truth be told, though, I've returned to Paris and have accepted this offer for a much more serious reason."

"I was just going to ask," Christine raised her eyebrows at him. "The last time I heard from you, you were studying in America. I thought you wouldn't be returning until next year."

Raoul's expression grew heavier, more so than Christine ever remembered, and it made her frown with concern. After giving a small sigh, Raoul replied, "I don't know whether or not you've heard about this, but…" He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to bear a burden that Christine was now longing to relieve him of, before he opened them again and finished his sentence. "My brother, Philippe…has died."

Christine let out a light gasp once the words left his lips. Her heart went out to him immediately, knowing that, while titled and certainly wealthier than she'd ever been, that didn't prevent Raoul from experiencing tragedy, and now, perhaps more than she. While she had lost her parents early on in life, Raoul had also lost his – first his mother, seven years ago, and then his father, three years ago – and now his only brother as well. The only remaining members of his immediate family now were his two older sisters. Already, Christine felt immense compassion for him at having to lose three family members in such a short amount of time.

"Oh, Raoul," she breathed. "I'm so dreadfully sorry, I had no idea!" But before Raoul could excuse her for such, Christine asked, "How long ago, if I may ask?"

Raoul looked slightly toward the floor as he replied gravely, "Little more than six weeks ago. I received the news by telegram about a week later."

For about a quarter of a minute after, the two of them remained silent, not knowing what to say to the other, until Raoul finally decided to speak again. "I immediately returned once I received the telegram. While I did miss the funeral, I had learned that Philippe had received an offer to provide patronage for the Opera House, and so I accepted it for him."

Though Christine felt sorry that the young man had to miss his own brother's funeral, her eyes lit up in admiration at his willingness to take up such a responsibility on Philippe's behalf. But just then, her face showed a confused frown. "That was so kind of you, Raoul. And yet, pardon me but, it doesn't make sense, that he would just suddenly d–" Not willing to even say it so baldly, Christine modified her words. "That he would just suddenly, pass away, I mean. You've known him much longer and better than I, of course, but in all the years I've known him, he never seemed to me as one prone to frequent illness." Unless one counted Philippe's inclination to drink, but she didn't say.

"Oh, you're right about that," Raoul agreed, his face starting to lighten a bit again. "It was nothing of that sort. No…" His eyes started drifting away from her, until it seemed he forced himself to look back at Christine. Lowering his voice, he added, "It wasn't illness, but _murder_."

Christine gasped in shock, but fortunately remembered to lower her own voice in time before asking, "Murder?!"

Raoul nodded grimly, his once bright eyes now starting to dull. "I wasn't able to see the actual crime scene for myself," he said, "but I did see a photograph and read the autopsy report." He pressed his lips together, as though hesitating, before finally saying, "The evidence suggests he was strangled. Though, that's putting it mildly, I'm afraid."

Although she wasn't one to easily faint over such talk, Christine began to feel a bit sick, and even then, not so much at what Raoul was saying, but at how heavily she knew this must be weighing on him. To have something like that happen to your own brother… And he was so bright and cheerful just a moment ago.

Hoping she didn't appear pale-faced, Christine quickly recovered her voice. "I-I see. And…was the perpetrator ever caught?"

Raoul shook his head. "Not as of yet, unfortunately," he replied. "However, I do believe I know who did it, or at least have an idea."

Christine's dark eyebrows shot up in curiosity. "Who?!" she asked eagerly, a little too much, she just then realized.

"That's the problem," Raoul answered her. "I believe I know _who_ committed the crime, but not his actual identity." Seeing Christine's confused expression, he became rather confused himself and asked, "Surely you must have heard of it by now?" She shook her head, and Raoul sighed in exasperation, though not at her. "Allow me to explain, then," he said. "It's been going on just under this past year; to my knowledge, at least. A series of crimes – numbering half a dozen – all similar to one another in some way. All of them robberies; all of them committed against wealthy magnates or nobility; all of them occurred in or around Paris…and while this last factor isn't always consistent, it's not unusual for at least one person to be found dead at the scene…by garroting."

Christine, having listened intently to everything he said, gasped suddenly at the last sentence. Her neck actually began to hurt slightly once he mentioned this person's method of killing…and it sent a chill through her. She'd heard about this way of execution that went beyond mere strangling, often carried out with a device if not just like then similar to a cane with a rope attached to it, the latter being used to wrap around the victim's neck until the life was quite literally choked out of them. It was something so feared that even the police had been adding special collars to their uniforms so as to not be victims themselves.

Thankfully, Raoul seemed to give Christine awhile to allow it all to sink in, until she was able to say the only words that would willingly pass her lips. "So this man is a robber-murderer?"

"Yes," Raoul nodded. "He's believed to be acting alone, although I wouldn't be surprised if any accomplices are eventually discovered."

"But he himself hasn't been caught yet?" Christine asked.

"No," Raoul shook his head again. "He cleverly disguises himself, so neither his name nor his likeness are known. Truthfully, the only evidence to go on is the sound of his voice."

Christine frowned. "Odd," she remarked. "But why his voice? Don't most men's voices sound similar to the other?"

Raoul chuckled slightly before he replied, "Mostly." His frown then returned though before he added, "But not this man's voice, or so I've been told."

"What are you talking about?" Christine asked, still eager to know yet perplexed at all the missing pieces in this case.

"This might sound odd at first," Raoul said, "but it's another common factor plaguing all these robberies." He paused for a moment, then added, "He apparently likes to distract those at the scenes of his crimes by singing."

Christine's eyes widened with interest. "Singing?" she asked. "A rather…unconventional method, I must say."

"Indeed," Raoul agreed. "Yet according to reports, this man's singing voice has been described as haunting and ghostlike. But other than that, most have described it as beautiful beyond words. And it's because of that that he's gained the police codename of the _Angel_."

Christine frowned as she began taking all that in. Though it was somewhat silly upon first hearing, it quickly became a rather diabolical combination in her opinion: a man who sings like an angel yet not only steals but also murders like a devil.

"He has already robbed Firmin and André twice," Raoul then said. "And based on the recent evidence, particularly the manner in which he died, it seems my brother was his latest victim."

Once he said so, it was as though realization had hit Christine like a runaway carriage. Her dear friend's brother had been met with an even more terrible fate than she first thought…at the hand of a garrotter. "Good heavens, Raoul…" she breathed, hardly knowing at all what to say. "I…I can't even begin to imagine…"

And yet once she looked directly back at him once more, she knew she was _not_ imagining what she then saw. A person ten feet away and just glancing at Raoul probably wouldn't notice. But Christine was right next to him and knew him so well, that she could spot the veiled hatred that hid in his eyes. So that was how he was able to hide such dreadful news from her for a time. He'd already been venting about it for awhile, ever since he'd first heard it for himself five weeks ago, and apparently in that short amount time had also learned how to hide it. Yet it still alarmed Christine now that she knew, now that she'd seen that the lively, carefree boy she'd first met years ago had become a man filled with such anger – righteous though it may be – that he seemed quite firmly set on getting his revenge.

"I appreciate your concern Christine," he then said, his voice showing no sign of the hatred she'd just seen. "But you needn't worry about me." Raoul suddenly looked around, as if searching for anyone who might overhear, and when he felt sure they were safe, he dropped his voice low and added, "I've agreed to become an informant for the police."

Christine's eyes went wide again, but Raoul didn't stop there. He started looking ahead, like a dog that had sniffed out a rabbit's trail. And as was the case with his eyes, there was a faint but still evident hint of anger in his still low voice as he said, "I for one will personally track down this vicious vagabond if I must. And I look forward to the day when I finally see this so-called _Angel_ and any accomplices in chains; or better yet, with a rope around _their_ necks…"

Christine felt a big swallow travel down her throat. She understood completely – or rather as much as she could – the position Raoul was in. Had someone she loved been murdered in such a barbaric way, she would be just as furious and hungry for justice. Yet for all the time she'd known him, she couldn't recall ever having seen the Viscount as alarmingly angry as he was right now. If they weren't already fearing for themselves, she was already beginning to fear for whoever had committed this most heinous of crimes against him, if it was at all possible for her to have such feelings toward such a person.

Before she could say anything else to Raoul, however, Christine was suddenly approached by one of the housemaids. And judging by the nervous look on her face, she already had an idea of what she was going to tell her.

"Christine!" she exclaimed as though out of breath. Had she had to run to get here? "Pardon me but, your assistance is required, upstairs." The young woman pointed behind herself and up as she spoke. Whether or not she had thought not to let Raoul hear that she was Carlotta Giudicelli's personal maid, Christine was grateful nonetheless.

"Of course," she nodded. But she then stopped and said, "Oh, one moment, please!" She turned back to Raoul and chose her words carefully, given the limited amount of time she had. "Raoul, if we don't meet again today, then I must say that, although I am dreadfully, dreadfully sorry about your loss, it truly has been delightful to see you again after so long."

"And to you, Christine," Raoul smiled again after what previously felt like an eternity. "Truly, seeing you again has made my return to Paris all the more worth it."

Now beaming at his words, Christine smiled widely at him and waved before saying, "_Au revoir_!" She then hastened away with the maid, already starting to feel anxious at having to face Carlotta again, but Christine was determined not to let it overwhelm her much as it had earlier, now that she'd seen Raoul again.

* * *

Nevertheless, keeping such a vow still proved to be somewhat difficult by the time Christine was helping Carlotta down the stairs. Once again, she was carrying the prima donna's train, and once again, she was having to suffer Carlotta's borderline insufferable attitude.

"I can't believe I wasn't informed the moment they arrived!" she snarled in a rather unladylike manner. "Does this Opera House really have such a lazy staff! Deplorable!"

Christine sighed and did her best not to roll her eyes, since doing so would've just made her more annoyed. And as much as she tried not to actually listen to the batty woman, her ears were nonetheless subjected to her shrill voice.

"I am going to give these men a piece of my mind as soon as I see them!" she spat. "I do hope this new managing arrangement will prove to actually be worthwhile!"

Christine briefly raised her eyebrows in surprise, for she had found herself hoping the same thing, if for different reasons. But all thoughts of that were quickly drowned out by even more of Carlotta's drivel.

"And I do hope I am at least presentable!" she exclaimed. "It would be the most horrid thing if I appeared in front of them without any rouge!"

_Spoken like a woman of intentional ill-repute_, Christine thought. Truly, though she didn't like to dwell on such things, she would hardly be surprised if this woman had had more than one lover, or even multiple lovers at once. Then again, considering Carlotta was reminding her of the titular Shrew of William Shakespeare's famed play, perhaps she would be at least a little bit surprised.

Only then did she realize that they had at last come to the bottom of the stairs. Christine felt relief, if marginal, flow through her. Now all they had to do was go around the backstage and, hopefully, the men from earlier would be waiting in the theatre.

As they made their way through the forest of props, vanity mirrors, electrical lighting systems, and backdrops, Christine was already beginning to pity them now that they were about to meet their newest, yet most insufferable, prima donna. Monsieurs Firmin and André, and even Raoul, might do a little bit of reconsidering as far as she was concerned. But just then, thinking of Raoul made her feel an embarrassed blush rise to her cheeks. For a moment, she had even started wishing Raoul hadn't come here today. Truly, if the woman whose train she still carried could make her feel such, then she very much made a mistake in accepting Madame Giry's offer. And yet, in the end, Christine still couldn't find it in her heart to let the motherly ballet mistress down.

At that moment though, it became perfectly clear that something else had been let down.

With a flinch, Christine heard the sound of a heavy rope snapping, then two. She looked up in the direction of the noise, and her eyes widened and her heart began to pound with fear when she saw one of the folded backdrops was soon to fall. Though she may not have liked Carlotta, Christine still cried out, "Signorina!" Dropping the woman's train as she did so, she rushed to her side and snatched her toward her, away from where she knew the backdrop would otherwise hit them. Less than a second later, she felt the floor shake as a very, very heavy load slammed onto the ground with an incredibly loud and even more frightening THUD! Rather than scream as she then heard Carlotta do, Christine only let out a squeak as she lost her footing and tumbled to the floor.

Though she didn't immediately feel any pain, a ringing noise filled her ears as she literally felt as though she'd been knocked witless, right out of her senses. As much as she wanted to open her eyes, it seemed they wanted to remain closed. For a moment, she thought she was hearing the theatre being filled with the shrieks and yells of both men and women. A blur of a moment after, she thought she was hearing someone calling her name, in a voice she recognized. With all her willpower, Christine forced her eyes to open. At first, her vision was blurry, but it quickly came back into focus once she saw a familiar looking man rushing toward her.

"Christine!" he shouted. She then became aware of him kneeling next to her and gently but firmly grasping her arms above her elbows. "Christine! Speak to me! Are you all right?!"

Christine's senses must have returned instantly to her, for she found herself wanting to reassure him. Again mustering all her willpower, she let out a moan as she then attempted to lift herself up, succeeding in getting only halfway up, so Raoul pulled her the rest of the way until she was sitting up. "Don't worry!" she insisted once she found her voice, though breathless. "Don't worry about me! Just a bit shocked, and rattled, that's all."

"A bit more than a _bit_, I'd say," Raoul chuckled, not in amusement but in relief. The concern then returned to his voice as he asked, "But, are you hurt anywhere? Can you stand?"

Answering his first question then his second, Christine replied, "No, I'm not hurt. But I might need some help to stand."

"Of course," Raoul nodded. Once again taking her by the arms both firmly and gently, he slowly and carefully pulled her up, until, before she knew it, she was on her own two feet again. Though only briefly, she managed to glimpse the immense distress on his face before he pulled her again, this time into a hug. While still slightly dizzy, Christine quickly returned it, more than grateful to have been assisted by the most honorable young man she knew.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked again once they ended their embrace.

This time, it was Christine's turn to chuckle, if not laugh. "Yes, Raoul! Yes!" she smiled brightly at him.

Raoul's face which once bore much fear for her now returned her smile in great relief. He looked toward the left, beyond which was the main stage, and said, "Good, though I'm not quite sure if she is."

Christine looked in the same direction and gasped as she saw Carlotta sprawled on the floor but very much alive, if her loud and shrill screams were any indication. Though Christine felt a surprising amount of pity for the usually rude and vain woman, she couldn't help but chuckle slightly when she saw the woman's train caught behind her…by the very backdrop that had fallen just now. Fortunately, two maids were already tugging it out, while two others were hoisting Carlotta back up on her feet. Once she was, she roughly shoved both women away and walked off, letting out one more shriek. Rather than being from fright, however, this shriek sounded as though it would come from the Queen of Hearts of _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_, which Christine had read some years ago.

She then looked to Raoul again, and did her best not to laugh when she saw how completely bewildered and alarmed he then looked. "Who…was she?" he managed to ask.

Christine breathed as she finally gained control of herself, and replied, "Signorina Carlotta Giudicelli."

Raoul didn't seem to hear her though, because he then asked, "For that matter, who could've done such a thing as that?"

He pointed up to the now broken ropes that once held the fallen backdrop. And from where the two of them stood, they could tell this was no mere accident. Someone, somehow had cut the ropes intentionally. But who, and for what reason, neither of them knew. Thankfully, however, it seemed no one had been crushed by the backdrop when it fell.

Even so, both of them already had an idea of who the perpetrator might be. But while Raoul made a mental note to inform the authorities of this frightful incident, Christine didn't know if she was overly eager – if at all – to meet anyone dangerous enough to garrote the life out of someone or crush them with a much larger and heavier weapon.

* * *

_Reviews would be appreciated._


	3. Chapter 3

As Christine had expected, the sound of the backdrop falling to the floor had echoed throughout the building, drawing just about everyone who lived and/or worked in the Opera House into the theatre to find out what had happened. At least, that was how it seemed to her when she and Raoul emerged from one of the side-entrances to the stage. The size of the crowd could've easily filled at least half the seats on the first floor. Among the sea of faces, she surprisingly easily spotted not just Debienne and Poligny but Firmin and André as well. Just afterward, Christine heard another familiar voice calling her name, and she turned to see Meg rushing toward her.

Her heart throbbing with relief, Christine left Raoul's side to eagerly embrace her best friend. "Oh Meg!" she exclaimed. "Thank goodness!" They then let each other go, and Christine asked, "You are all right, are you?"

"Oh, of course!" Meg nodded enthusiastically, letting out a chuckle. "After you took off for Raoul, Maman saw me, and gave me a lecture about eavesdropping before _escorting_ me back to the ballet room."

Christine let out a slight gasp as she realized she hadn't noticed Meg's absence after she and Raoul had started getting re-acquainted. She felt a slight stab of guilt, until Meg spoke further. "And you're all right too, I hope?" Before Christine could reply, Meg answered her own question. "Well, of course, otherwise you probably wouldn't be standing in front of me right now!"

The fair-haired girl and then the brunette both started laughing in relief, until Christine replied, "I do still have a bit of ringing in my ears, but other than that I'm perfectly fine."

"What about Carlotta?" Meg asked, her blue eyes eager to know. "I heard she got pinned underneath the backdrop?"

"Only her train," Christine replied, "which I was more or less kind enough to drop when I saw the backdrop was about to fall."

Despite the air of seriousness about the situation, Meg couldn't stop herself from bursting out laughing. "Is that what happened?!" she asked, trying to pull herself together. "I mean, I wouldn't really wish anything like that to actually happen to her, but… Oh I wish I could've been there to see it!"

"And have your sense of hearing subjected to that explosive sound, may I remind you!" Christine said, trying to sound scolding in an attempt to keep herself from joining Meg's laughter again.

At that moment however, the attention of both girls was directed elsewhere when they heard Monsieur Debienne attempting to speak above the cacophony of alarmed and concerned voices. "Everyone! Everyone, may I have your attention, please?!" But of course, no one else seemed to hear him.

Except, perhaps, for Madame Giry, for Christine and Meg then heard the older woman loudly tap her cane against the wooden floor of the stage. As was often the case when she wished to call the _danseuses_ to attention, so she succeeded in causing everyone in the large theatre to go silent. "_Merci_, Madame," Debienne the smiled gratefully. Everyone turned toward him finally, and he proceeded to speak as steadily as possible. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I am well aware of how we have all been given a great fright by what's happened just now. And I think we can all be thankful that it seems that no one has suffered any injury. But, rest assured, every endeavor will be made to pinpoint the root cause of this accident."

"If it _was_ an accident, that is," Raoul suddenly spoke up, loudly enough for everyone to hear and turn briefly toward him. Christine felt new concern when she saw the angry suspicion that now darkened his face. "And if it was _not_? What then?"

"Ah!" Monsieur Poligny startled everyone by suddenly raising his voice, as though calling out to a misbehaving dog. "Buquet!" All gazes quickly fell on a balding, bearded man nearing middle-age looking as though he was trying to sneak away, but had now frozen where he stood now that he knew he'd been found out. It took Christine a moment of searching through her mind before she recalled his name: Joseph Buquet.

While Christine knew the man only through his occasional flirtations with the _danseuses_, in all the times she remembered personally coming across him – few though they were – he seemed a decent enough fellow. But of course, the less she knew, the more cautious she should probably be. Still, she listened to Poligny as he spoke further, using a tone that was not quite accusatory but still somewhat suspicious. "Buquet, you are often charged with keeping post in the rafters at this hour. Surely, you must know something."

Buquet shook his head, though Christine was near enough to see the nervous look in his eyes. "I'm afraid not, Monsieur," he admitted.

Poligny's eyebrows shot up not in surprise but in indignation. "Do you mean to tell me you've abandoned your post?" he demanded.

The stagehand stiffened and didn't reply immediately, as though trying to be careful of what he said, before he finally did say, "All right, all right! I admit it, I did leave! But only briefly! And I returned at least five minutes before the backdrop fell. It's gotta take longer 'an that to cut large and 'eavy ropes like those."

"Then you are saying you saw no one, no one at all, anywhere in the rafters?" Poligny again demanded, looking as though he was dangerously close to losing his patience.

"With all due respect, Monsieur, don't you think I would've said so as soon as I did?" Buquet retorted in self-defense. "But I said nothin', so I saw nothin'." He then smirked slightly before adding, "If you want my word on it, if there is anyone up there, then far as I'm concerned it may well be a ghost!"

Gasps and shouts from both genders gathered in the theatre – as well as a few high-pitched screams from among the _danseuses_ – erupted immediately. The scene might very well have descended into chaos were it not for Madame Giry loudly tapping her cane twice more. "Enough of this!" her voice shot up, causing all of the unintelligible chatter to cease and all faces to look up at the woman – as well as a small squeak to come up from Meg, though no one heard. Madame Giry's gaze, however, was firmly locked on Buquet like a spotlight, her expression much resembling that of a giantess that had been rudely awakened.

"Joseph Buquet," she spoke, her voice low yet loud enough for everyone to hear, "I strongly suggest that you bite your tongue, lest you want to make yourself scarce, if not completely absent." Keeping her gaze on Buquet yet then sounding as though speaking to all who were currently gathered, she added, "We have had more than enough unnecessary excitement for today, and I will have no one adding further to it. Understood?"

Buquet only nodded, followed by everyone else, when Debienne cleared his throat and spoke again. "Yes, thank you, Madame Giry," he said, trying not to sound exasperated. "Truly, your timing is impeccable. But, now, without any further ado, if I may…" He then walked over to stand beside the younger pair of men still nearby.

"While we may have a rather important matter on our hands, let this be a moment to help lighten the load." It seemed his words had the desired effect, for everyone was already turning toward the new men they all had yet to meet.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Debienne went on, "allow me to introduce the new managers of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra, Monsieurs Richard Firmin and Gilles André. With Monsieur Poligny's retirement as well as my own fast approaching, I trust that things here at the Opera will run smoothly under these two fine gentlemen." He paused for a moment, as if to let that sink in with everybody, before adding, "That said, it truly has been my pleasure and Monsieur Poligny's to serve all of you here at the Paris Opera for all these years. I trust we are leaving you in the most capable of hands."

A murmur of approval started to rise up among the crowd of staff. But while they began to come forward to converse with Debienne, Poligny, Firmin, and André, Christine and Meg remained where they stood.

"Those two are the new owners then?" Meg asked Christine. Christine only nodded, and Meg took that as an opportunity to comment further. "They seem decent enough to me. Although, I of all people should know appearances can be deceiving." She shivered slightly at having just watched her otherwise unremarkable mother take on the most intimidating persona Meg had seen in quite awhile.

Christine, however, simply kept her eyes on the two new men that seemed to intrigue her in more ways than one. "Hmm," she sighed, "I don't know." Meg gave her a questioning look, prompting her to add, "I'm not certain why, but ever since Raoul and I personally met them earlier, I've had this odd feeling about them."

"Perhaps it's because they're new and unfamiliar to you, when you're so used to knowing everyone here?" Meg suggested. Christine nodded in consideration. But still, she had her reservations. And while she knew curiosity did have its socially acceptable limits, she felt as though she might want to keep an eye on these two.

Just then though, an extravagantly dressed creature burst into the theatre from one of the side-doors to the stage, forcing all eyes to look upon her. "YOU!" Carlotta growled as she pointed to Debienne and Poligny, making Christine flinch. "You complete and utterly incompetent fools!"

While Meg bit her lip at the quickly rising tension, Christine felt an embarrassed blush rise to her cheeks, given she'd been assigned to attend the peacock lady. But when she truly saw how askew her appearance was – with her carefully arranged hair at risk of falling down, and her hat tipping a bit too far toward one side – Christine coughed as she tried to hide her chuckling. She then bit her lip too though when Signorina Giudicelli truly started making a scene.

"I demand compensation for everything I have had to suffer on my first day here!" she shouted in her shrill voice that caused the ringing in Christine's ears to increase for a second. "And if does not meet my standards, you can find another prima donna stupid enough to take an offer here!"

Debienne, Poligny, Firmin, and André all stood completely still, their eyes the widest Christine had seen them thus far, only relaxing slightly when Carlotta's ranting and raving seemed to cease momentarily. But even then, only Debienne dared to speak. "O-oh d-dear," he stammered, trying to find his voice. "I-I'm afraid we may have forgotten to make such an important introduction."

For a moment, Christine wondered if that was the truth or simply an excuse. "Please," Debienne went on, "do forgive our bad manners, Mademoiselle–"

"_Signorina!_" Carlotta interrupted, much as she'd done Christine when they were first introduced. "Must I remind everyone in this God-forsaken hovel that I am _not_ French?! And must I flee this place to preserve my person, let alone my life?!"

Christine couldn't help but admit that Carlotta did have somewhat of a right to complain, given she'd almost been crushed when the backdrop fell. But then, Christine made the realization that the woman never bothered to thank her for saving her life.

"M–" Debienne stopped to correct himself. "Signorina Giudicelli, we are dreadfully sorry that you've had a truly life-threatening first day. But, I can assure you, an investigation will be–"

"What you need to do is to stop hiring such dimwitted staff!" Carlotta interrupted him again. "And until you do…" She then pointed to Firmin and André before continuing, "Or until these hopefully less idiotic gentlemen correct you mistake…" She then got directly in Debienne's face, and spoke every following word slowly, building to a climactic finish. "_I_ can assure _you_ that I will NOT be singing!" Those last three words practically exploded out of her mouth. With even more dramatic flair, she took her skirt in her hands and huffed as she flounced away toward the proper exit of the theatre, causing yet another loud echo to fill the air in the theatre.

It seemed everyone had been holding their breath, for the moment she left, everyone let out a collective sigh of relief. Christine's wandering eyes then locked with Raoul's, his expression just as stunned as hers. But Debienne's and Poligny's suddenly urgent voices brought her attention back to them.

"Well, gentlemen," Debienne spoke first, "I am afraid my old friend and I must be off toward our pre-planned engagements."

Poligny added immediately after, "Yes, we are pleased to leave everything and everyone here in your charge."

Clearly they were eager to lay the increasing amount of problems on the new managers. For a moment, Christine pitied Firmin and André, even though they couldn't have necessarily foreseen such an outlandish introduction to the Opera House when it had been traded over to them.

Before either of them could stop their predecessors however, the two older men were already hastening away toward the exit, much as Carlotta had done only moments ago. "I will be in Frankfurt!" Debienne raised his hand in farewell.

"And I will be in Hamburg!" Poligny mimicked Debienne's gesture. The door was then quickly shut behind them, the echo slightly more pronounced than when Carlotta had left.

For a brief second, only silence followed, no one knowing how to react to what had just occurred. After which, concerned, alarmed, and intrigued murmurings between the members of the crowd gradually arose. Christine and Meg on the other hand could only exchange their mutually confounded expressions. Right after, Christine once again caught Raoul's gaze, though this time he looked exasperated rather than astonished. She couldn't blame him, given everything he'd told her. This good friend of hers was already trying to address a considerable amount of drama in his life.

Raoul then looked away, and Christine did likewise. When she did so though, her gaze once again landed on Firmin and André, and her curiosity once again emerged when she saw that their backs were turned to her, and they seemed to be speaking with each other in hushed tones. While she obviously couldn't hear what they were saying, Christine had to wonder how different things were going to be with this new pair of managers, and already she was having misgivings.

A few hours later, when dusk was fast approaching, Christine and Raoul were once again where they had first met each other that day, in front of the grand staircase. Raoul tried to smile as he took Christine's hands in his. But even then she could see the regret in his eyes, and heard it even more so in his voice. "I truly am sorry our first meeting after such a long while had to happen under…such circumstances."

Pitying the Viscount, Christine smiled softly at him. "Think nothing of that," she assured him. "I'm simply happy to have met you at all today."

"As I'm happy that you managed to miss the backdrop when it fell," Raoul added, his smile starting to falter. It fell rapidly when he then asked, "Forgive me but, you're certain you're all right?"

"I've told you twice already," Christine replied, not a hint of annoyance in her tone. "And if it will put you at ease, I've spoken with Madame Giry, and she's given me leave for the remainder of the day."

Raoul smiled warmly, enough to make Christine briefly look away. "It seems she is the house's matron after all," he remarked, causing both of them to chuckle.

Right then though, Christine felt his hold on her hands tighten just enough for her to notice, and she noticed his eyes take on an expression she couldn't identify. "In all manner of seriousness, however," Raoul spoke with an oddly matching tone, "let me remind you that Madame Giry is not the only one who has promised take care of you, when your father passed away, that is."

Feeling the need to lighten the increasingly awkward moment, Christine smirked. "Then she will not have to carry my load in its entirety."

Raoul chuckled again, though only briefly, before once more taking on that odd expression and saying in that equally odd tone of voice, "I bid you good day, Christine." He then proceeded to raise her hands to his lips, startling her slightly, though he didn't seem to notice. Looking back at her, he added, "Until we meet again."

Christine stared at him for a moment, before remembering her manners. "Until we meet again," she mimicked him. "Good evening, Raoul."

A footman then arrived and handed the young man his hat, which Raoul tipped to the somewhat flustered girl once he put it on. "Good evening, Christine." She nodded back, and then watched as Raoul made his way toward the front entrance of the Opera House, beyond which she could see that the late August sun had already begun its daily descent.

Once he left her sight, Christine turned back toward the staircase, and began musing over what had just happened between her and Raoul, her thoughts increasing with every step she made up the stairs and then through the rest of the building.

Certainly the day's extraordinary events alone gave Christine much to think about already – especially the instance when she'd just barely avoided certain death from the backdrop. Truly the unknown reason behind the ropes snapping – and the unknown person who'd caused it even more so – were more than deserving of her focus; that she knew. And yet, Christine's mind – and perhaps the new strange feelings she was experiencing but could not name – found it easy to push all of that aside, in favor of the odd yet intriguing exchange she and Raoul shared. If she'd ever felt such feelings before, she couldn't recall when. And even when she went over possible words to describe them, she didn't find "lovestruck" to be immediately applicable. Then again, she had never had a lover before, as she'd never been inclined to dwell on such things. Or at least, not as much as some of Meg's fellow _danseuses_.

Whether or not it was coincidence though, once Christine's thoughts had turned toward that, she spotted the girls being led down a hall in front of her – likely by Madame Giry, though Christine didn't see her – going in the direction of the ballet rooms, perhaps for one half hour or so of practice. And at the end of the line trailed Meg, who nodded Christine over with her head once she saw her. Christine then hastened quietly – so as not to let the ballet mistress hear – over to her side.

"So Raoul has left then?" Meg asked, keeping her voice low – though the chatter of the other girls certainly helped to hide it. When Christine nodded, she went on to say, "I must say, he's become quite the gentleman, if you know what I mean."

Despite the feelings in her becoming more prevalent, Christine chuckled as she replied, "I suppose he has. But…I've honestly had quite enough of excitement for one day. Perhaps we can discuss this further tomorrow?"

"Oh of course," Meg replied sympathetically. The two girls then stopped and proceeded to embrace each other, though quickly. "Get your rest, Christine," Meg smiled. "And, in any event…" She lowered her voice even further, as though she was already beginning to laugh at what she was going to say. "At least _Signorina prima donna_ has gone!" Both girls immediately attempted to snuff out their giggles, until Meg remembered where she was supposed to be. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Of course," Christine replied. "Good evening, Meg." As if not to increase the already heightened risk of being caught by her mother, Meg merely nodded before hurrying quietly back toward the line of girls in their signature white _danseuse_ costumes. Christine watched until her best friend and the others turned the corridor, after which she turned the other way and returned to walking solitarily down the opposite hallway.

* * *

Christine rubbed her eyes as she sat down on her bed, having changed into her nightdress. While not a fragile and delicate damsel, she was still a bit shaken from having been nearly crushed and having her sense of hearing assaulted by the sound of the backdrop hitting the floor. So she'd decided to go to bed early.

Only now had she managed to direct her thoughts elsewhere, away from the strange feelings she still couldn't put a name to. But there was another she was quickly able to identify: the sense of loss. In times such as these – rare though they were – Christine wished her mother were still alive. While she had been only six years old at the time of her mother's death – and while Christine didn't recall too much of the woman who gave birth to her beyond memories of a soft-faced, if somewhat frail, Swedish immigrant – she wished she could've at least had more time to get to truly know her.

With that thought, Christine took up one of the knives she kept under her bed. And as she merely stared at the blade in her hands, her sense of mourning increased greatly once she much more easily recalled her father. Although she'd had five years to move on from his death, she still occasionally grieved it, if only briefly. After all, he was the one who'd chiefly raised her, had taught her how to throw a knife, and, of course, had played so many songs on his violin, songs that he and Christine had sung together, most of which she still remembered the words to.

But even as she thought for a moment that she could hear her father's violin, and his voice as well as her own – which she had not heard in ten years – Christine knew that those days were long gone, in the past. However much it may have pained her, she knew there was no point in dwelling on what could not be changed – especially after she gave into the urge to yawn.

Once she put her knife back in its hiding place, Christine got up and walked toward the small table that stood in one corner of the room. After blowing the candle out and casting the whole room into darkness, she returned to her bed, nestled under the blankets, and rested her head against the pillow. Little did she know, however, where her thoughts would go once she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_"Papa!" a young girl's voice screamed in the distance. "Papa!" Christine wondered at first where the voice was coming from, until she felt as though she was being surrounded by an intense heat that seemed to spring up out of nowhere. With it came the loud sound of crackling wood, as though she was in a sort of wooden structure about to fall. The heat increased greatly until it felt like she was inside a furnace. After which, she thought she was seeing bright warm colors of brilliant red, radiant orange, and bright yellow dancing wildly before her eyes. And it was only in that moment that Christine realized she was trapped inside a building that was being licked away by fire. But even more frightening was that there appeared to be no way out. No way to escape the torrent of raging flames that threatened to consume her._

_"Papa!" the girl's terrified voice called out again, before being drowned out by a fit of coughing and the crackling of the fire against the wood. "Papa!" Christine then gasped as she realized she recognized that voice and who it belonged to. Although it sounded as though it echoed from a far off place, she knew with an ironic chill whose voice it was: her own._

_But that was impossible. The voice sounded far too young to be hers. And yet Christine recognized the inflections, the tone…and the desperation. And that was when she realized what she was seeing, what she was remembering, both what she saw and felt on that most frightful day of her life._

_Her fear shot through her all the more fearsomely as she found she'd been literally backed into a corner, the wicked flames coming closer every second, threatening to overwhelm her. Sobbing for someone to hear her, Christine cried, "Someone, help me!"_

_Immediately afterward, it seemed as though her prayer had been answered. She thought she heard a voice calling her name, a male voice, though too young sounding to be her father's. Someone was looking for her, but who? Moreover, even if the person did get to her, how were they going to get her out? If she didn't burn to death she could very well die by choking from the smoke._

_All these thoughts and fears flooded her much as it seemed the fire was about to do. Her pounding heart and aching lungs felt as though they would give out. With what Christine believed in that moment could have been her last breath, she screamed…_

…_The heat. The fire. Were her senses deceiving her, or were those two starting to slowly disappear? Though it seemed so, Christine felt as though she wanted to weep nonetheless. But then…only then did she realize…she was hearing a new voice…one that was singing…_

"Child, don't fret…  
Your cries have been heard…  
Mercy has come for you…"

_Christine was awestruck. Never could she recall having heard such a voice before. It was like none she'd ever heard in her life, yet no voice had she ever heard sounded so beautiful. Not even had her father ever sounded like this. She continued to listen in the darkness._

"Come now and let  
Me sing a kind word…  
One that will see you through…"

_It was a masculine voice, Christine knew that much. Other than that however, she knew nothing of the actual person singing. All she could focus on was how deeply the voice seemed to affect her. It sounded powerful, yet gentle. Solid yet silvery. And it seemed to come from far away yet close by at the same time. But whatever the case, Christine could feel the fear leaving her like mist on a summer's day. She decided it would be better not to speak or move, but simply listen to whoever was singing to her._

"Even when you trip and fall  
You won't be left alone at all…  
And if you should hear a call  
Will you answer me…?"

"Even should you drift and stray  
Someone will help you find your way…  
Through the night and through the day  
Will you stand by me…?"

_As the voice continued to sing, Christine didn't think she'd felt more comforted in such a long time, if ever. She wanted to seek out this person. Yet no matter where she looked, the darkness never lifted. Even so, that did nothing to her growing captivation with the singing that seemed to surround her. Then again, perhaps it was better that she didn't know who this person was. After all, she started thinking as she descended back into the pleasure of deep sleep, what human being could possess such an otherworldly-sounding voice?_

* * *

_Reviews would be appreciated._


	4. Chapter 4

When Christine next opened her eyes, it was as if she were emerging out of a daze or a stupor, even if it were a somewhat pleasant one. The voice of the anonymous male singer still echoed from her ears in a way that felt rather nice. Would that she could've gone on listening to it for eternity, it sounded so lovely, so soothing. But, judging by the graying light tinted with gold coming in through the window in the ceiling of her room, a new day was dawning, and it was time for her to dawn with it. Feeling a slight sting of disappointment, she lifted her hand to rub her eyes.

In that instance, however, Christine had the strange sense of a nearby presence. Almost as if someone was in her room at this very moment. Her initial sting of disappointment turned into one of alarm, she lifted her head from her pillow and began rapidly blinking her eyes in an attempt to bring her blurred vision into focus, and look for that hidden presence. She directed her confused gaze toward her mirror that stood in the middle of the back wall of her room. For the briefest of moments, Christine thought she saw a mysterious, shadowy figure, and a pale face that just barely showed itself. She began blinking rapidly until she managed to place her elbows underneath her.

And yet, when she looked clearly at the mirror for the first time, she saw no one's reflection but her own. Still curious though, Christine turned her head in every possible way in an attempt to spot the intruder whose reflection she initially thought she'd seen. But even when she was sure her eyes had completely adjusted to the very little light in her chamber, she saw no one.

Although she had just woken up, Christine let out a tired sigh. If only she had the luxury of having an electric lamp in her room, which could be lit instantaneously, rather than a single candle that would take two minutes to light at the very least. Even so, even as she could've sworn she saw another reflection besides her own, her vision was telling her no one had entered into her chamber. She couldn't possibly be going mad, could she? And yet, she knew she had not been seeing things.

But even as she knew that there was no point in sinking back into her bed, so too did she acknowledge was there no point in dwelling on this oddest of situations, at least not anytime soon. Once Christine pulled herself out of bed though and began dressing for the day, she was already mentally putting aside a time to discuss all of this as soon as possible with someone she trusted.

* * *

"Are you sure that's what happened?" Meg asked. Christine sighed, as this wasn't exactly the response she expected while she waited until now, just after luncheon, to tell her friend. She had also carefully chosen a secluded location – just outside the ballet rooms. It would, however, not be long before the girls returned from luncheon to practice more, which was why Christine had told Meg a bit more hastily than she otherwise likely would have.

"Why would I not be sure?" Christine asked back as she stood from leaning against the wall. "Why would I not remember my own dream?"

Meg shrugged her shoulders and replied, "Perhaps it's because I often don't remember my dreams. If I do dream at all, that is."

Christine drew her eyebrows close together. "You don't think I'm making this all up, do you?" she asked, or rather politely demanded.

Meg instantly turned toward her, and showed signs of agitation. "What would give you that idea? When have I ever said that you were making this up?"

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but then forced herself to stop once Meg asked her second question. After thinking it over briefly, she realized that her friend did in fact have a point, and let out another sigh, this time in acknowledgement. "You're right," she admitted. "I'm sorry. I know I tend to jump to conclusions a bit too easily. But…oh, if only you could've heard that voice as well." Christine felt some of her previous comfort return to her as she remembered that heavenly singing which put her at ease.

"Perhaps, but honestly that's the least interesting aspect for me," Meg admitted. "All I'd like to know at the moment is your opinion on what might have caused you to have such a dream."

Christine was fortunately prepared, having thought of potential reasons all morning. And one in particular seemed to stick out from among all the others. "I might know, yes," she nodded. She then gave an uncomfortable frown though, as simply thinking about it made her stiffen with anxiety. Choosing her words carefully, she proceeded to ask, "Meg, do you…do you remember…the great fire from ten years ago?"

Meg's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open, and for a moment she forgot to answer. "Oh, good heavens," she finally said. "I don't…I don't know how I could've forgotten it."

Though she didn't say so, Christine wouldn't have been surprised if part of the girl's mind had blocked that most frightening of nights out of her memory. If that were the case, she could hardly fault Meg for it. Indeed, it had taken Christine herself awhile to see the threads of connection. And when she finally had, it was as though an electric light had instantly illuminated in her mind; it all made perfect sense.

Ten years earlier, a cold October evening in 1873 had erupted into a literal firestorm when the former Opera House – also called the Théâtre National de l'Opéra before this current house – had ignited as though it were a giant oven. Gustave Daaé, having been recommended as a violinist by Count de Chagny, and his then ten-year-old daughter had just made their home there. Never would Christine truly forget the terror she'd never before experienced and hopefully would never experience again. Never would she truly forget how the scene had seemed to transform into Hell itself, the memories of seeing – or, at the time, thought she'd seen – more than two people engulfed in flames and hurling themselves out windows, nor how she couldn't tell which was a worse way to go – being devoured by those devilish flames, or choking on the smoke she'd desperately tried but couldn't fully stop herself from inhaling.

It was that smoke and the resultant stinging sensation in her throat that would prevent Christine from ever singing again. And while her father had managed to escape the conflagration, she knew that the cause of his death five years later had been the slow working of the smoke's sinister effects on his lungs.

For over twenty-four hours the fire had roared until the firemen had finally managed to put it out. By then though, it was of course too late, both for dozens of lives – including that of Meg's father – and the building itself. The once grand Opera House – which had stood there for over half a century and had hosted the debuts of several ballets and operas – had thoroughly burned to the ground. But not all was lost, for just over fourteen months later, the new Opera House had completed construction and was inaugurated. It had been around that time that Christine had met Meg, and the two had called this house home ever since.

Christine had been dwelling on all of this when she realized Meg had spoken. Having fortunately remembered what she'd said, Christine shook her head in agreement. "Nor I," she breathed.

"Still," Meg then said, "whether or not you've forgotten it, why would you suddenly dream about something that happened a whole decade ago?"

"I wish I knew," Christine shook her head slightly. She stared at the floor as her thoughts started drifting off again, this time toward something else she'd recalled when combing her mind earlier. "Although," she said softly, still staring, "there is something else about that day that the dream seemed to help me remember."

"Really? What?" Meg asked eagerly. Dragging herself out of her self-induced trance, Christine looked back up at her.

As if trying to explain it to herself as well as Meg, she went on to say, "In my dream, someone was calling my name, as if frantically looking for me. I recognized it. It was a young, male voice. And yet, beyond that I still can't bring his name or likeness to mind. Looking back on the actual memory though, the exact same thing happened, and more."

Almost as if she could see it right before her eyes, Christine added, "I can remember someone – likely the person calling for me – grabbing my wrist and dragging me out of the place I'd been trapped in. I believe they then pulled me in front of them and shoved me. The next thing I knew, I was in my father's arms, sobbing with relief." Christine bit her lip once those words left her, but she continued, "After that, I recall hearing a very loud sound – like a wooden structure caving in on itself. And…not much else after that other than how euphoric it felt to escape the fire."

"So, let me see if I have this right," Meg said once her friend's tale was done. "You remember someone rescuing you, yet you can't actually recall who, specifically?"

"No," Christine shook her head again. "Strange, I know. But it's true. I know it wasn't my father, since he was outside waiting for me."

"Perhaps you don't remember who it was then," Meg offered, "because you were frightened out of your wits and the smoke was making you feel faint."

Christine raised her eyebrows. "That could be," she nodded. "I hadn't considered that." She then let out a sigh, however, at the growing sense of loss of not knowing the identity of whoever had saved her life. It seemed, for now at least, that she would have to settle for simply knowing that someone – whoever they may have been – had rescued her from certain death.

"Wait a minute," Meg then said, startling Christine slightly. "Wasn't Raoul here yesterday? Do you think it could've been him?"

"No, it wasn't him either," Christine replied. "He was also outside by then, that I also remember. Raoul even denied it was he who rescued me when I asked him, and I have no reason to believe he was lying."

Meg shook her head in disappointment. But then, seeing an opportunity to change the subject, she asked, "He is the new patron isn't he? What a wonderful surprise!"

"He is," Christine nodded, her smile starting to return to her. "And it was! He'd actually told me he intended it to be a surprise!"

Meg returned Christine's smile, but it soon became apparent something else was pressing on her mind. "Do you think there could be more besides that though, for his unexpected return to Paris, I mean? After all, who honestly travels all the way across the Atlantic simply to surprise an old friend?"

"He'd told me a relative of his had passed away, and that he took up the offer of providing a patronage on their behalf," Christine replied, not wanting to violate the Viscount's privacy by telling Meg everything he'd told her, even if Meg was a friend of hers.

"Even so," Meg persisted, "I can't help but think there must be more." Her eyes then lighting up as though she'd stumbled upon something priceless, she asked, "Whenever he's not here, you both exchange letters, correct? Not to pry but, is there anything in those letters that might suggest certain intentions?"

Once again sensing that same unnerving feeling from yesterday, Christine replied, "Yes, we exchange letters. And, now that you've mentioned it, perhaps I should go back and re-read them for anything I may have missed."

Meg gave her a questioning look, making Christine sigh. This wasn't exactly something she regularly discussed with Meg, having never been interested in gossip. But given how she was having this unsettling yet oddly benign feeling, she decided she was willing to make an exception. "When we parted yesterday, he reminded me rather directly that Madame Giry is not the only one who's made a promise to my father to take care of me. And, while he never exactly clarified what he meant by saying that, something is telling me that it could very well be one thing in particular."

"You mean…" Meg then looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. When it seemed no one was, she still softened her voice when she asked Christine, "Marriage?"

Though she could feel the unsteady feeling greatly increased, Christine was also somewhat relieved now that she was able to put a name to it. "It's entirely possible," she admitted. "He and I may not be in the same social class, but Raoul has always been honorable and honest, a man of his word. And we have known each other for fourteen years. If he had promised my father that he would take care of me, I have no reason to believe he would exclude marriage. What better way, after all, to help secure a good life for me than that?"

"But Christine," Meg then interjected, "why do you seem so nervous about it? I would be ecstatic if a man such as Viscount Raoul de Chagny wished to marry a common woman like me!"

"It's not about me being common, though," Christine retorted. "What I'm about to say may sound odd but… Oh!" She groaned as she decided there was no use in trying to bottle up what was bothering her about all this. "I know for a fact that Raoul would be a wonderful husband. He's a titled man of means, of course, but also kind and humble and of overall good character. And yet…" Meg waited cautiously as Christine took her time to attempt to put her feelings into words. "Although I do love him…it's more of a…familial kind of love. Not that that's bad but…"

"Oh, I believe I know what you're talking about now," Meg smiled, though sympathetically rather than in jest. "Don't think I haven't seen this sort of thing before."

Christine returned the questioning look that Meg had given her earlier, until Meg replied, "What I mean to say is this. You say you love Raoul, and I believe that you do. But…you're not _in_ love with him. Is that it?"

Christine's eyes widened. It seemed her friend really had hit her mark. But Christine was not done yet in trying to understand. "That's why I find it so vexing. I mean – and don't take offense at this – but I've always been a practical-minded sort of girl. I've never been prone to romantic fantasies. I've always thought such things may be fun to imagine but are ultimately unrealistic. You'd think that something as simple as not being in love with a good man who might want to marry me may not bother me. And yet…it does. And I don't know why."

"Perhaps because it's a normal thing to want?" Meg suggested. Christine, her gaze having drifted toward the distance, swiftly looked back at her friend, but Meg wasn't startled. "Christine, I hope you don't take offense at this either, but I'd have thought you would've figured out by now that one doesn't have to approve of whirlwind romances to be a romantic."

"I don't recall ever saying that, for one thing," Christine replied, trying not to sound too heated in her tone. "For another…" She trailed off and briefly sighed in frustration before adding, "This is a dilemma that…I've never been presented with before."

"Perhaps," Meg agreed. Smiling sympathetically again, she continued, "But I'm confident that you'll be able to sort this out, sooner or later. After all, you'll have someone like me to help you out." The two girls then chuckled, having desired to relieve the tension that'd been going on long enough. "And besides," Meg added, "Raoul hasn't even proposed yet, has he?"

"No, he hasn't," Christine shook her head in agreement. "Although, that doesn't mean he never will." She then crossed her arms as she – somewhat unwillingly – started entertaining the thought.

Suddenly, Meg looked forward and remarked, "I wonder what's taking the girls so long?" She then touched Christine's shoulder, causing her friend to look up at her. "Should we and go and find out for ourselves?"

"Oh, of course," Christine stepped forward. "I don't mind at all." Meg smiled her thanks, and the two began hastening down the hall and through the rest of the building together, until they came to the main theatre.

Both Christine and Meg frowned in confusion at seeing all the girls – looking almost like fairies in their white costumes – gathered in the opposite wing of the one they had just entered through. Feeling her heart beating nervously against her chest, Christine murmured, "What on earth do you think is going on?"

"I don't know," Meg shook her head, sounding as concerned as Christine. "But I don't like it." Christine shook her head as well, as she didn't like this either. Her anxious heart felt a bit more at ease though when she reasoned that it couldn't have been another accident, otherwise she would've heard the girls screaming and some of the other staff members would be here already to see what was going on. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but be suspicious.

Just then, she heard a masculine voice that she might not have immediately recognized had she not heard it just the day before. "So you better watch yourselves, little Mademoiselles," he said in a teasing tone. In that moment, Christine finally realized who it was, and the line between frustration and anger was quickly blurred. Not waiting for Meg, she took her skirt up in her hands and hurried across the stage toward the opposite wing.

The man continued to speak even as she moved. "Watch yourselves… Or maybe the opera ghost'll get you all by the throat!" Half the girls started screaming – some in pure fright, others in frightened laughter – when Christine finally marched onto the scene, and her face began to turn red as she saw just whom she was expecting.

"Joseph Buquet!" she mimicked Madame Giry from yesterday, though tried not to raise her voice. Even so, there was the stagehand, with a noose prop around his neck as though he intended to make a cruel joke. Christine couldn't tell whether he was startled or surprised to see her. Either way, just like the ballet mistress, her patience was thinning fast with his nonsense – and left her completely when she recognized three of the girls as the most recent arrivals.

Glaring at the older man, Christine pointed an accusing finger at him and snarled, "You Monsieur, are treading on very dangerous ground. Might I ask what's so funny about a falling backdrop, which could've easily crushed anyone underneath it?"

Buquet opened his mouth to answer, but Christine wasn't done. "Madame Giry may not be here, Buquet, but I am, and I say your job is the only thing in this situation that's hanging, by a thread!"

Though Buquet smirked at her, she was satisfied to see some hesitance. "You really think you can fire me, Mademoiselle?" he asked. "When we're barely equals?"

"I may not be able to, but I will go to those who are if you don't leave the girls _alone_," Christine warned, speaking through clenched teeth with that last word. "Do you really think Madame Giry will just laugh along with your heinous joke, especially given how she addressed you yesterday?"

Buquet's face started paling as she spoke one last time. "If I ever catch you making light of all this again, especially in front of these girls, I will not waste time warning you again! Do I make myself clear?"

Buquet nodded, finally able it seemed to see the precarious position he was in. "Very clear, Mademoiselle," he replied, pulling the noose prop off.

"Good," Christine glared at him again. She then pointed up toward the rafters and kept her tone as she added, "Now would you please be so kind as to get back to your post?"

Though he started looking resentful, he nodded again and did as she said. Breathing a small sigh of relief, Christine turned around to face the _danseuses_, and raised her eyebrows to see the impressed and aghast looks on their faces. Apparently her performance just now worked a bit too well. Even so, she smiled warmly, and purposefully moved toward the younger arrivals as she said, "Come now girls, let's get back upstairs."

All the girls nodded, and it was only when they started moving back to where Christine had left Meg that the younger ones started relaxing. But when she finally did return to Meg, she didn't know whether to be gratified or perplexed when her friend gave her the same look the girls had given her just now. Even so, Christine nodded her over, and Meg only spoke when they were moving side by side again. "For a moment it almost seemed as though you'd transformed into Maman just now. I didn't think anyone could be so intimidating as her."

Whether out of nervousness or humor, Christine chuckled. "And neither did I, it seems. Perhaps her influence may be more subtle than even she believes."

Finally smiling again, Meg remarked, "Let's just hope she doesn't catch on to that!" The girls laughed softly together again, but neither said another word as they led the girls back the way they'd come until they'd returned to the ballet rooms.

* * *

In the following week since Christine's confrontation with Buquet, she'd set her mind on keeping an eye on him. She found herself not trusting him very much. There was some suspicious air about him that got on her nerves. She didn't think he could be the robber-murderer frolicking wickedly around Paris, but she did consider the man a troublemaker.

But that wasn't the only thing on Christine's mind. Fortunately the other matter was more pleasing, if mysterious. Even if she never heard it again, Christine didn't think she'd ever truly be able to get that man's voice out of her head. Nor did she want to. For the next seven days, after the day's work was done, just thinking about that voice was enough to comfort her. Would she ever hear it again? She didn't know, though her desire for it remained, particularly on one day after a week had passed since she'd first heard it.

It was late afternoon, and Christine was solemnly sitting in one corner of the room that most often served as a private practice area for the house's prima donna. Carlotta hadn't returned to the Opera House ever since she'd been nearly crushed by the backdrop. Christine couldn't fault her for that – at least in part – but imagine her displeasure when the hoyden once again darkened the doorways of the house.

And here she was, being forced to listen to the prima donna rehearsing in front of the new Opera House owners, Firmin and André – or rather showing off for them. She preferred the word "forced" not because the woman's voice was bad, but because it was in fact very good. Christine knew that was to be expected, given Carlotta was the new prima donna, but it wasn't until she actually listened to her that she realized this woman, though barely tolerable, was a woman of talent. She did detect a bit of her usual shrillness, but as far as Christine was concerned, Carlotta could probably charm even the most hard-hearted person simply with her voice. It both impressed and frustrated her.

But as for the two men in the room, they only seemed to be enthralled, as their awestruck gazes were focused on her the whole time, and they enthusiastically gave their applause for the woman once she was done singing. Carlotta gave an extravagant bow, annoying Christine further.

"Splendid, _Signorina_!" Firmin exclaimed as he took her hand, and then proceeded to kiss it.

"Simply marvelous!" André added with a kiss to her other hand.

Predictably, instead of thanking them, Carlotta only bragged. "But of course! Why would I perform any less for you two darlings!"

As both of them continued to compliment and flatter her, Christine refrained from pointing out how she called these so-called "darlings" "fools" only a week earlier, but by now Christine was getting impatient. She couldn't tell whether the two men were truly enchanted with Carlotta, or putting on a façade. If it was the latter, the two were certainly good at it.

That thought unexpectedly started troubling her, when Christine heard one of the men address her. "Mademoiselle Daaé?"

She looked up to see it was André, giving her a rather curious look. "Yes, Monsieur?" she asked him.

"I was asking if you would care to give your opinion," the tall, lean man replied.

Christine raised her eyebrows at his desire to know what she'd thought. Yet rather than give a false opinion, she chose her words carefully to hide her admiration. "Oh, certainly," she nodded, trying to smile. "It was lovely." Then, without thinking, she added, "It reminds me of a song my father and I used to sing." For a moment, her face scrunched up in regret at her mistake. Christine didn't know what possessed her to reveal something so personal, but it was now out whether she liked it or not.

"Truly?" André asked, even more curious now. "Well then, care to share it with us?"

Christine's eyebrows shot up, and her heartbeat quickly became anxious. "Y-you mean, you want me to sing, Monsieur?"

"Of course!" André smiled as though trying yet failing to look friendly. "I'm certain we would all be blessed to hear you sing as well, Mademoiselle."

Christine only noticed now that Carlotta's smile had fallen, and she seemed to get increasingly agitated. _Would that I could just get up and leave!_ Christine thought.

"I second that!" Firmin added with enthusiasm, even as Christine hoped they wouldn't see how awkward she felt.

She sat up and crossed her arms before she replied, "Pardon me, Monsieurs, but I'm afraid I can't."

Both men raised their eyebrows at her and Firmin asked, "Really now? And may I ask why?"

Feeling the impulse to politely answer, yet not wishing to go into too much detail, Christine spoke slowly so as not to stammer. "An, unfortunate accident, stole my singing voice, years ago."

The two men frowned, and for a moment, everyone in the room merely stayed in their positions in awkward silence, until André finally said, "Oh surely she can at least sing decently enough. I'd say she's only being shy."

Christine opened her mouth to defend herself, when Firmin spoke first. "I shan't be surprised. I insist, Mademoiselle, that you sing for us!"

Feeling her embarrassment rising, Christine retorted, "I beg your pardon, Monsieur. Forgive me, I seemed to have overstepped my bounds, for I truly can't sing! I haven't been able to in years!"

Christine then looked at Carlotta when she noticed that the woman had put her hands on her hips, and gave her a look that seemed equal parts antagonized and condescending. "Oh, leave us then! You've served your purpose for today, maid. Now you only insult me with your presence!"

Grateful to finally be able to leave, yet feeling a sense of resentment at being straight up dismissed so abruptly, Christine nodded before she stood up from the chair she sat in, and gave a brief curtsy. "Good day then Monsieurs, Signorina. I'll trouble you no longer."

"See to it then, girl, and leave, now," Carlotta ordered without giving any kind of goodbye.

Christine wanted to remind her that she was already leaving, but she held her tongue. Still, she allowed André and then Firmin to take her hand, without any kisses.

"Good day then, Mademoiselle," André nodded at her, though she could sense a hint of annoyance.

"Yes," Firmin said as he took her hand, "forgive us for being so untoward and ill-mannered."

"All is well," Christine nodded, though she didn't fully believe it. "Good day, everyone." She then quickly took up her skirt in her hands before hastening out of the room and then down the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief at having escaped the tension once she turned the corner. The hour was already growing late anyway, and after making sure her other daily duties were done, Christine decided it would be most appropriate to return to her room. Though it was a long walk, as her room was completely on the opposite side of the building, she welcomed it, since it gave her an excuse to relieve the sense of discomfort in her nerves.

Unfortunately, her thoughts were not nearly as quick to catch up, even when she had finally returned to her room and sat somewhat roughly on her bed. Christine didn't know why, but she thought she was feeling the prick of tears in the backs of her eyes. But she had nothing to cry about…did she? Even as she thought this, Christine couldn't help but wonder what had made her so flustered back in that room. All the two men were doing was asking her to sing, even if she couldn't. Then again, Carlotta was in the room as well…

That was when Christine figured it out. Clearly, Carlotta was a better singer than she could ever hope to be. And yet… Christine sighed. It didn't seem fair that such a hoyden should have such a beautiful voice, while she had genuinely loved singing in the past but could no longer do so, thanks to that accursed fire.

But it wasn't just that. Ever since she came to live in this Opera House eight years ago, Christine had sometimes wished she could sing at least like the altos, let alone the sopranos – though she'd used to be in that range – especially when the house put on performances. There she would be, watching and listening from behind one of the wings while waiting to assist anyone, and just like everyone else in the theatre, enchanted.

And oh how it could make her particularly envy the sopranos. Like her, they might not all have been attractive or pretty, yet they could charm an entire crowd simply with their voices. Christine immediately remembered all the times she'd charmed her father with her singing – and she with his – and it made her wonder. Had the fire not happened, but would she have been singing among the sopranos, perhaps even in a prominent position among them? While she didn't think she would have eventually been prima donna material, still… And if the fire had not happened, might her father have still been living even now?

Christine put her head in her hands as she felt the aching sense of longing and loss increase by the second. And it certainly didn't help when she started hearing the _danseuses_ go through their weekly singing lessons. Although they might have be mainly dancers, every now and then they would participate with the chorus, hence the lessons. And yet, even as she listened to them, although she didn't want to dare wonder, she nevertheless did… Even if she had lost her singing voice from the fire at that time, it had still been ten years. Might it not have at least gotten a little better since then? Oh… Oh, if only she could do it…

Christine stood up from her bed and went to her door. After looking to make sure no one was within earshot, she shut it again and went to stand in the middle of her room. Taking the appropriate stance, she took a deep breath in an attempt to relax, and prepare her lungs. She then listened carefully to the notes and the pacing at which the _danseuses_ – with a soprano range – sang. Christine took one more breath, and shivered slightly before opening her mouth, and – for perhaps the first time in ten years – tried to sing.

While she hesitated after the first note, she took the time to clear her throat before making herself continue. At first, Christine was surprised when she found she was mostly able to stay on key, even if her voice strained a little bit. But the longer she tried to sing, and especially when she tried reaching even slightly higher notes, the strain worsened. Still, Christine did her best to ignore it until she no longer could and gave a few coughs.

Even then though, she was determined. After letting her voice rest a moment, Christine tried again. But once she did start again, the most peculiar thing happened.

Though she didn't notice it at first, the longer Christine sang, the more she thought she was hearing…a second voice? Yet when she stopped, so did that supposed second voice, and when she started again, so it did too. While she may not have sung in years, Christine did know what one person singing sounded like. But in this instance, whenever she was singing, it was as though another was singing along with her. Moreover, either she truly was starting to sound much better than she thought, or there actually was a truly heavenly voice she was hearing alongside hers.

That was when Christine gasped at an immediate realization. Could that second voice be the highly beautiful one that sang to her in her dream? Did it truly exist outside her mind and in this physical world? Christine quickly stopped singing and instead began to listen…listen for any sound that sounded remotely like the aforementioned voice. This she did for a whole minute. And yet, all she kept hearing were the soprano voices of the _danseuses_, whom she was trying to keep up with, after all…

"Oh, confound it all!" Christine murmured to herself in frustration. In that moment, she truly felt like a simpleton. All this time she must've been hearing the girls' voices echoing through the building, and yet… Oh, how she wished it were otherwise! How she wished it were so! While her typical practicality wanted to rationalize it all and think realistically, the disappointment and returning ache of loss eventually won out. Again, Christine felt the prick of tears in her eyes, though more prominently this time around.

Before she could feel them fully come though, she felt her practical personality come back to her, telling her there was no use in getting so emotional over something so simple. Breathing deeply, Christine decided it was best that she ready herself for bed. Yet the thought that she had possibly heard that voice again lingered in the back of her mind.

Later, as she lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling directly above her, Christine determined that she would once again speak to Meg about all of this the following morning, whatever her reaction. Talking with someone often helped her to sort things out. Hopefully she'd be able to sort out this very strange issue at least somewhat tomorrow. Hopefully…

* * *

_Reviews would be appreciated._


	5. Chapter 5

"All right," Meg sighed as she put her hand on her forehead and started pacing nervously in front of the ballet room door like a caged animal. "There is definitely something going on around here."

Christine had waited until the same time she'd last spoken with Meg about this, right after luncheon. But unlike the last time, her initial frustration had been traded for anxiety. For one thing, she didn't feel too keen on telling Meg about how she'd tried to sing. "Please don't tell me I'm going mad."

Meg held up a hand in a stopping motion. "I didn't say that!" she assured her friend. "I'm just trying to think through…trying to think through…" She trailed off, as though searching for the right words, until she believed she found them. "How…truly bizarre this is…"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking!" Christine exclaimed in relief. "First I hear that voice in my dream, and a week later, I might very well have heard it echoing through the building. I reasoned at first that it could just have been you and girls in your singing lesson, but from then till now, I haven't known for certain."

"Christine," Meg looked at her with briefly amused confusion, "if it were our voices echoing all the way up to your room, while we might be decent, I doubt any of us sound as angelic as the voice you've described to me." The fair-haired girl then turned to return to her pacing, until a sudden and deeply unsettling thought came to her. "Christine," Meg looked back at her, her face now starting to pale, "you don't think there could be some wanton intruder in or around your room, do you?"

Christine's face began to turn white as well, but only marginally. "That is worthy of consideration," she admitted. "But still, I'm not quite sure." She then put a hand in front of her mouth as she donned a thinking expression, until she too had thought of something as suddenly as Meg had. "Besides Meg, if it were truly a man of…ill intentions…I would think his voice would have quite a bit more…lust to it." Strangely enough, Christine felt the urge to go on speaking. "But this voice…this voice sounded as pure as snow in high winter." For a moment, it felt as though she would lull herself into a trance, until Meg spoke again.

"All right," she said, partly in jest, partly in anxiety, "who are you? And what have you done to Christine?"

Christine jumped a bit in surprise, then – upon remembering where she was and whom she was speaking with – shook her head to rid it of this romantic drivel like a dog would shake water off its fur. "Pardon me," she murmured.

Meg immediately brushed it off by saying, "In any event, we ought to keep that possibility open until we're sure we know otherwise."

Christine nodded with agreement, then began murmuring to herself. "Well, there is the morning after I heard that voice, when I thought I saw someone's reflection in my mirror…"

Unfortunately, Meg's sharp sense of hearing caught her friend's words. "What?!" she exclaimed, her blue eyes wide with shock. "You thought you saw someone?! Why didn't you tell me last week?!"

Christine was already scrunching her face in frustration at having been caught, but she wasn't about to lie to her best friend. With a sigh she replied, "I admit it; I didn't tell you because I simply thought I was seeing things. In my defense though it was very early in the morning, and I was only barely awake. And you know how things don't always look right when you're half-asleep."

"One is either asleep or awake, Christine," Meg retorted. "There is no halfway." She began pacing again, only faster than before. "I don't like this," she finally said. "I don't like this at all."

"And I do?" Christine couldn't help but ask. She was already talking further when Meg looked back at her. "Really, Meg; you think I'm going to have affection for a man I've never met or even seen just because his voice sounded divine?"

"To be honest, Christine, I don't really know," Meg shook her head. "Now, I am glad that you were comforted in your sleep. But I don't like the idea of some anonymous unknown just wandering about the house's unseen halls as though he were…"

Meg trailed off, as a startling realization just came to her, and apparently to Christine as well, for they both looked at each other with the same wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression. "A…ghost," Meg at last finished.

For a moment, the two of them stayed silent as they tried taking all of this in, until Christine finally spoke again. "You don't think there really could be any truth behind the _danseuses'_ silly stories?" she asked, quickly realizing she was also asking herself that.

"I don't know the answer to that either, I'm afraid," Meg admitted. Then, with more frustration, she added, "Oh, but how I wish I did! Too many startling and even frightening things have been happening around here! What we need is clarity!"

"I wholeheartedly agree!" Christine exclaimed. "But, what can we do? We're only two girls close to becoming women!"

Just after she spoke, Christine was starting to fear if someone had heard her, for she could already hear the chatter and the footsteps of the _danseuses_ coming down the hall. She didn't want anyone to be needlessly frightened again. Meg, however, pressed her lips together at having their conversation cut short. Still, she turned to Christine and said, "We will discuss this later, if we can. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Christine nodded. While she too felt disappointed, time was pressing, especially if it had to do with someone like Carlotta. But since the hoyden was – most thankfully! – not here, Christine wanted to use the available freedom to collect her thoughts. She and Meg said their goodbyes, and Christine began hastening down the hall, nodding respectfully to Madame Giry when passing her. Christine then immediately wondered if she and Meg should tell the ballet mistress, but eventually decided that Meg's mother couldn't afford to needlessly join the discussion, until they had verifiable proof.

As she continued through the house alone, Christine began to look into her own thoughts on the matter, and was surprised to find that while she too wouldn't want someone playing a grand game of hide-and-seek in the Opera House, part of her couldn't think any ill will towards whoever owned that voice. The voice that had comforted her during the most frightening dream she'd had in years. The voice that she believed was singing along with her just last night. Could a person own such a voice while harboring dishonorable intentions? How it agitated her not to know! Christine had meant it when she fully agreed with Meg about needing some certainty in the midst of all this confusion. Even so, she partly hoped that that certainty would be at in least somewhat in favor toward her private wishes.

* * *

In any event, such thoughts about such things couldn't be dwelled on for the time being, specifically when Carlotta once again came to the Opera House, and Christine was once again compelled by duty to attend her. She could only hope the woman wasn't still frustrated at how Christine had "upstaged" her – as she believed Carlotta would put it.

Fortunately, at least somewhat, any scorn she must have earned from Carlotta did not show on the woman's usual expression: bored with the slightest hint of annoyance. Even so, Christine was surprisingly getting used to Carlotta's bearing; but only just, as the woman was already putting her irritability and impatience on full display as though she might as well have written it on a placard to wear.

As was often the case, even as she held the _Signorina's_ train behind her while they went upstairs to the prima donna's dressing room, even as the woman kept twittering inanities, Christine did her best not to actually listen to the woman's rants. But every now and then she caught statements such as "can't find any good help these days" and "They should be thanking me for coming here at all!" and the like. Even then though, Christine didn't bother to roll her eyes as she used to when she first started attending Carlotta.

Just as she was wanting this little venture to end already, they finally found themselves outside the dressing room door. Christine sighed with relief, but quickly, as she didn't want Carlotta to hear, lest the woman should get more vexed. At the same time, she let the train down and opened the door, after which she picked up the train yet again, and followed Carlotta inside. The only decent thing about all this was that at least the prima donna had stopped spewing her nonsensical…nonsense. Truly, Christine was running out of words to describe such an unpleasant noise.

But the two then proceeded to their usual routine, with Carlotta sitting at the vanity – now Christine saw why they were called that – and Christine helping, or rather doing all the work, of removing non-essential things from the hoyden's person.

Before long though, Carlotta deemed it necessary to speak again. "Truly, Mademoiselle, I couldn't help but notice how the two new managers of this Opera House seemed rather interested to hear you sing."

Christine pressed her lips together at how the woman never called her by name – and sometimes got her name plainly wrong. But the automatic politeness in her compelled her to answer. "I'm sorry then, _Signorina_ – if you want me to say so – for offending you, if I have."

Yet instead of dismissing her apology as she often did, Carlotta surprised her attendant with her next statement. "Oh no, nothing of that sort, no! Indeed, I became rather curious if you don't mind me saying so."

While she didn't at all like where this conversation was going, Christine nonetheless replied, "Indeed? What were you curious about, may I ask?"

"Certainly you may ask!" Carlotta said in jest as though they were old friends amusing each other. Truly, whatever had possessed her to take on this demeanor, it couldn't be good. Still, Christine listened as the woman went on. "I understand that your father was a violinist, yes?"

Even as she kept moving, Christine frowned, feeling more and more uncomfortable with every word. But she replied, "Yes, what about it?"

"And he was a rather prominent one in this house?" Carlotta asked. "Just out of curiosity – though of course you already know that – how does a common violinist become so esteemed in this finest of Opera Houses?"

Christine flinched a bit once she heard that last sentence. If she had to reply though, then she must choose her words carefully. "He had already had a very generous benefactor for quite some time before he came here. That's all I'll say."

"Interesting," Carlotta smiled before she let out a giggle, perhaps the most unnerving one Christine had ever heard. And against her wishes, the hoyden kept on talking. "Is it true though that you could sing at one time – before that aforementioned 'accident,' that is? And am I right in assuming your father must have taught you?"

_Please stop_, Christine inwardly begged as she started feeling a nervous perspiration emerge on her forehead. Her heartbeat too seemed more anxious than it had been in awhile. For a moment, Christine actually wished Carlotta would go back to spouting her usual drivel rather than go in this syrupy tone that was making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

But her wishes were not heeded, as Carlotta continued to speak. "Pardon me ever so much for being this intrusive." _Liar_, Christine thought, though she continued to hear the woman's deeply disturbing words. "I only want to say how much of a pity it is that you can no longer bless anyone with your voice, I'm sure it was so lovely! Perhaps your father should have taught you better, hmm? Oh, but wait…I seem to have forgotten. That poor old pauper of a man is lying dead in the ground, isn't he?"

Christine had been doing her absolute best to restrain herself with every sentence that came out of Carlotta's mouth. But that last one proved the final straw. Her tolerance had been hanging by a thread, and the thread had now snapped. This termagant could poke fun at Christine all she liked. But she absolutely could not abide such venom against one she loved – especially not the man whom she considered, when he was alive, to be the best father in the world.

Merely a second after the shrew had finished that last sickening statement, Christine didn't pause or hesitate at all. For the briefest of moments, the room was filled with a hard, striking SLAP! After which came sounds usually associated with one tumbling to the ground.

Immediately following this, though Christine felt a stinging sensation in her palm, her eyes and fury were focused solely on the deplorable dame sitting in a heap of fabric on the floor. Neither of them spoke, Carlotta putting her shaking hand to her now utterly appalled face, and Christine noting in a second of surprise that her smack to Carlotta's cheek had drawn two small scratches. Nevertheless, she hoped she looked the most intimidating she'd ever been when she stood over the woman and pointed an accusing finger at her.

Speaking the first few words through her clenched teeth for effect, Christine snarled at her, "_Never_ speak such wretched words around me again, vile witch! Dare be so bold another time, and I'll tear your hair out!" She could've said more, but she didn't want to. She was too angry. She only wanted to scowl at the woman before her, hoping the expression was hot enough to be burned into her memory forever, like a horse's branding.

Every second that passed felt close to an hour. Fixed as she was to be sure the woman learned her lesson, Christine didn't hear the footsteps in the hall outside that were hurrying to the door. Nor did she hear the door opening.

"Christine!" Only when two familiar, feminine voices exclaimed her name in shock did she become utterly stunned herself. Everything, even the passage of time, seemed to freeze. Before long, however, Christine dared to look at who she already knew were standing in the doorway, their now white faces amazed at the scene before them. Madame Giry and her daughter, Meg.

Christine didn't bother to wonder why they were here at all. All she felt was horror, both at knowing there would be dire consequences for smacking the Opera House's prima donna in the face – however intolerable she was, and at knowing, even more so, that she had failed Madame Giry more thoroughly and absolutely than she'd ever failed anyone. Her stomach felt like an iron weight and she felt sickened.

Christine didn't want to look at either one of them, so great was the burden that had just settled on her shoulders. Nevertheless, and despite the stinging of tears forming in her eyes, she looked directly at them, murmuring in a shaking voice, "Forgive me…" Knowing she wouldn't last much longer, Christine took up her skirt, passed through the little space available between Madame Giry and Meg, and then rushed down the hall and eventually down the stairs.

Had she been able to see the scene for herself though, she would've heard Carlotta give a great shriek, followed by a growl. She would've seen Carlotta directing a fiery pair of eyes at Meg and the ballet mistress, shouting, "Well?! Don't just stand there! Send for a doctor! Oh, my beautiful face is now _ruined_!" And, perhaps best of all, Christine would've seen Carlotta break out in hysterics over two little cuts and a welt mark on her cheek, while Meg only glared at the once proud prima donna, as if to say, "Serves you right. If Christine got _this_ angry, you deserved it!"

But unfortunately, Christine saw none of these things. Her vision now blurring with tears, she hoped she would make it back to her room in time before she completely lost control. She'd already humiliated herself enough just by seeing Madame Giry and Meg immediately after what she'd done. What if word of this got to Firmin and André…or even Raoul?

She couldn't bear to think of all that now. She simply wanted to be alone. With that thought, she hurried through the Opera House even faster, until she'd finally returned to her room, and shut and locked the door behind her.

* * *

While Christine didn't burst into tears like she thought she would, she wished to have no contact with anyone, not even Meg, for the rest of the day. Fortunately, no one came to her, as if her wishes had somehow reached them from afar like a wireless.

Even so, wanting to soothe her aching body and aching feelings, Christine decided it was best to have a bath down in the ladies' washroom. And just as she wanted, no one spoke with her or barely even looked at her. Though that of course only made her wonder if the gossip had already started. Still, she ignored any attention that may have been given her. And within an hour, she had returned to her room in a freshly laundered dressing gown, carrying a warm towel to dry her hair with. Fortunately, this section of living quarters being exclusive to women kept her from worrying about any male gaze.

Even then, however, Christine couldn't fully flee the emotions and issues that continued to burden her. She got busy drying her hair and dressing for bed; but by the time she was done with both, she once again felt her eyes welling with horrid tears. She knew crying was really a divine gift to humanity, as it served almost like a purification ritual of one's innermost soul. Still…

Spotting one of her knives from underneath her bed, Christine snatched it and stood up to head over to the spot where she usually practiced throwing them. She did her best to concentrate, but she put in as much of her raw feelings as she could when she finally threw the weapon. As she'd expected though, this time the knife didn't stick to the wall, only hitting it and then falling to the floor with a resounding clink. Christine groaned and put her head in her hands. She didn't know if she didn't hit her mark because she was too emotional to really focus, or because misfortune was working against her yet again.

Getting increasingly tired, Christine strode back to her bed and flopped down on it, finally lifting her face from her hands. With nothing to look at in the dark room with only one candle providing any light, she stared out into space, and finally gave up the fight against her emotions that were by now overwhelming her.

As one tear after another fell down her cheeks, Christine didn't know where to begin in sorting out her thoughts. She hated Carlotta for her blatantly disrespectful words about her father. Had she not found a surrogate mother in Madame Giry, she might have hated her too. But in this case, Christine hated how she'd forced such monumental disappointment upon the ballet mistress – even if Carlotta had cruelly provoked her. She hated knowing that she'd most likely have to face Firmin and André for her misdeed – though she could never truly apologize for it. She hated the likely possibility of everyone in the house finding out. She hated how confusing things had gotten lately. She hated that both her parents were not here to comfort her and guide her. She hated that that hellish fire had stolen her voice. She hated…

_"Christine…?_

_Christine…?"_

Even though she'd been sniffling, Christine was instantly pulled from her self-induced stupor as she let out a small gasp. Was she just hearing things again…or was someone calling her name? Come to think of it, it didn't sound like they were calling for her in the conventional manner. It sounded more as if…as if…they were…_singing_ her name? But why call for her in such an unusual…

Christine gasped again as she figured out what must be happening. It was that voice! That beautiful voice she knew she'd heard twice before! And yet quite a bit more prominent than both those previous occasions… Such a realization both excited and frightened her. Somehow remembering a childhood habit of hers, she shifted backwards on the bed until her back was against the wall, and hugged her knees to her chest.

"W-who's t-there?" she asked, then grimaced at how she'd stammered. Believing she should be bolder, and that it was possible that the person couldn't hear her, she raised her voice, but not so much as to awaken the house. "Who's there?!"

_"Christine…?_

_Christine…?"_

There it was again. Just as silvery and soothing as she remembered it being. Nevertheless, Christine bit her lip and tried to calm her racing heartbeat. But then, not long after they called her name twice more, there was…something else…

The whole time, Christine had been looking around the right side of her room, and it only just now occurred to her to look left. More so, she had that sense she remembered having that morning the week before…and she was even more certain of it now than then… Someone was in here with her… And yet, who…?!

Daring to look the other way, Christine let out a third gasp, louder now, and laced with fear. With wide, unblinking eyes, she both marveled and felt immense alarm at seeing…bright, white, almost glowing mist or fog…inside her mirror?! But that was impossible! There was nothing like that here in her room at this moment to be reflected in the mirror!

Christine hugged her legs tighter. She couldn't tell if she was completely losing her mind or if she was truly seeing what her sense of sight told her she was seeing. As was the case when Carlotta spoke those most disgraceful words, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand stiffly. And yet, unlike then, somehow it didn't feel so unwelcome this time.

But suddenly, any reasonable or rational thought Christine might have had completely abandoned her. She was seeing something else in the middle of inside the mirror, something standing among the mist, yet still in the shadows. Little by little though, what she saw now to be a human figure slowly emerged from the darkness behind them.

And right then… Christine knew that whatever else happened to her for the remainder of her life, _never_ would she forget this moment…

Never would she forget meeting…_him_…

* * *

_Reviews would be appreciated._


	6. Chapter 6

For the second time that day, it felt to Christine as though time had slowed to a halt. Whereas most girls would scream upon encountering such a sight, it felt as if she'd lost her speaking voice along with her singing voice. Although, only when she managed to somewhat look away from the masculine-looking figure did she remember why most girls would scream.

While she herself still didn't, Christine nonetheless let out a horrified gasp as she realized that not only was she in a dark room at night alone with a man – or so she believed – whom she was neither related to nor married to, but what made it even worse was that she was only in her nightdress, which was all that kept him from seeing her…underpinnings…

In a mad rush, Christine pulled her bed blankets to her chest and over her bare legs and feet. While they covered and warmed her body, she felt embarrassment closely followed by fear covering and warming her face in great haste. Maybe this really was a man of ill intent to approach her in such a way like this.

Even so, Christine dared to look back up at the man still half-hidden in the shadows, wondering what he was going to do to her. For a moment, he reached out a black gloved hand toward her, making her shrink back and even shake slightly. Yet when she looked back up once more, she found he seemed to be only lifting his hand in a way usually meant to convey a show of peace. She relaxed, but only in the slightest.

"Don't be frightened…" the mysterious figure then spoke a bit slowly. "I will not harm you…"

Christine could only stare at him. Even his speaking voice sounded comforting. Truly, for all that had happened today, it felt and even sounded ever so subtly like a cool breeze on a midsummer day. Still, she found it a little unsettling that his gaze seemed almost as fixated on her as hers was on him. In any event, her eyes slowly traveled downward and then up again as she finally started taking in this apparition's appearance.

He stood tall, as he very nearly measured to the top of the mirror. And if nothing else, he was rather handsomely dressed. Against his almost shining white shirt, Christine didn't think she'd ever seen a suit as black as the one this man wore. It looked as though he'd cloaked himself in a piece of the night sky, an image made all the more convincing when she noticed the cape that appeared to stretch to his feet – around which the fog seemed to pool – and the only barely noticeable star-like jewels at his shoulders from which it fell.

Looking up at his face again, Christine noticed the brim of this man's black felt hat kept her from fully seeing his likeness, except for the wisps – maybe bangs – of hair that was perhaps the lightest shade of blond she'd ever seen. But the most curious part of his apparel was the mask that concealed the right half of his face; although, had there not been a sudden shift in the shadows, she might not have seen it at all, given the mask and his skin were nearly the exact same color: a pale marble white, like a statue. Indeed, he seemed to stand as still as one.

And his eyes… Christine couldn't tell from where she sat whether they were green or gray. Stranger still, even though his gaze seemed solely focused on hers – and while the environment they were in wasn't exactly ideal for sharing a close proximity – for whatever reason, she didn't feel terribly bothered by it. She of course, however, had no idea who this man was; nor could she be certain if he really was at all a man…or a…ghost…

Christine, having found her voice again, finally mustered up enough courage to ask, "Who are you…?"

She thought she saw the barest hint of a smile as the human-shaped shadow replied, "I have come to help you, Christine Daaé…"

Christine felt a shiver shoot through her person like an electric current. Despite not getting an answer to her first question, she had much more besides that one. Not quite succeeding at keeping her voice steady, she asked, "F-for that m-matter…h-how do you know my name?"

"I know the names of all who live and work in the Théâtre National de l'Opéra…" the ghostly man replied, the pace and tone of his voice staying the same. "After all, I've made this house my dwelling place as well, so to speak…"

Christine was about to ask him what he meant by that, until she recalled with newly born eye-widening fear a certain story told by a certain _danseuse_. "You…y-you l-live underneath the house?" _Curse this stammering tongue!_ she said in her mind. _I feel witless enough as it is!_

The man nodded, his head being the only thing that moved while the rest of him continued to stand perfectly still. "Indeed, Mademoiselle… And I am glad you are the only one who seems to have caught on…"

Upon hearing that, Christine remembered what she'd wanted to know ever since she first saw this bizarre creature. "But…what does all of this have to do with me? And if you truly mean no ill will, why come to meet me here? And at this hour?!"

He nodded at her again, as if agreeing with her. "Do forgive me for arriving in this manner…" Christine noticed with surprise not so much his change of tone, but how it seemed to sound rather sympathetic. "Far be it from me to otherwise engage in such blatant misconduct…" he continued. "But, I am afraid there was simply no other time and place for us to meet…"

"What on earth for though?" Christine demanded, flinching at how she'd unintentionally raised her voice.

As if to convey his message more properly, the masked man in black held out an open hand. "I know what it is that you want, Mademoiselle Daaé…"

Christine frowned. In an attempt to hide her anxiety at his claim, she changed the tone of her own voice to sound more challenging. "Then if you do know, tell me what it is that I want."

His voice sounding sympathetic again, the man replied, "I know that you wish to sing again like you once did years ago…before that fire deemed your voice too lovely for the world to hear, and thus stole it from you…"

Christine didn't know whether to feel complimented or mocked by his words. But even more so, her brown eyes widened as she realized that this stranger somehow knew something about her that normally would be unknown to anyone she didn't disclose it to. It made her even more uncertain about whether or not he was a ghost.

"You've been spying on me, haven't you?!" Christine accused him. But the man only held up his hand as if to express an intention of peace, just as he did before.

"I have not, Mademoiselle, I can assure you…" he replied just as calmly as he'd been since she first saw him.

Christine wanted to demand he tell her how else he could possibly know such an intimate thing about her, when she found she'd suddenly lost her voice again. The man seemed to take that as permission to continue.

"Whether or not you believe me, I have come to help you gain your voice back…" He once again only barely smiled. "Truly, it would be a great tragedy for such a blessing to be completely and utterly lost to you…and the world…"

Christine didn't listen to that last sentence. She was already struck with bewilderment at this proposition laid before her. So many questions flew through her head that she had no idea where to begin. She'd already wanted an answer as to how he knew of her private wish to sing again. Now she wanted to know also how the interloper knew of the circumstances that had rendered her singing voice lost. And even if he did sincerely desire to help her, just how did he intend to help her get it back when she herself had been unable to for an entire decade? Surely he didn't think himself a sort of master magician who could just miraculously restore it to her…did he?

That last question caused the flow of thoughts in Christine's mind to suddenly freeze and her heart to pound. As ridiculous as it sounded at first, she reminded herself that she'd never met a man like the one standing in her mirror before her – that alone seemed to be evidence enough. But other than that, what did she _really_ know of him with any amount of certainty?

And yet the more she thought about it, no matter how much she may have wanted to deny it, Christine found herself more and more wanting to take up his offer. Though it might have been ten years since she'd last sang – when she'd then been a child rather than a grown woman – she never forgot the joy it brought to her, and how she'd shared that joy with her loved ones. Nor would she forget the horror she felt upon hearing the news that she might never sing again. Of course, ten years was more than enough time to get used to it.

But now that this man – however bizarre he may have seemed – sounded certain that he could help her regain what now felt like a lost treasure… Christine couldn't ignore the glimmer of hope that seemed much like the small candle in her room. It was often only a small source of illumination for her dark room at night. But even then, though the light it provided was always dim, it always comforted her. Now it appeared as though this revenant was offering her the match needed to once again light a different but much more cherished source of illumination in her life.

Realizing then though that she'd been contemplating in silence for a good while, Christine redirected her gaze back to the man in her mirror, and narrowed her eyes at him, communicating her still prevalent suspicion. "Name your terms," she challenged him.

"There are none…" he replied, seeming almost strangely pleased by her willingness to be so bold with him, until his usual stone-faced expression returned at once. "Although, this perhaps could be one…"

While Christine leaned forward in her bed to listen, he explained, "However untoward this may seem at first…" The man held out his hand toward her once again before he continued. "You must be willing to come with me, Mademoiselle…to the place where I plan to help you…"

Once more, Christine felt distrust and wariness simmer within her. As though he'd read her thoughts, the man added, "I will not force you to come with me if that is not your wish… In fact, should you desire, I will disappear tonight, and you need never to encounter me again…"

Now that certainly caught Christine off guard. She wondered for a moment if it was simply a ploy, a specter's trick to bait her. But then she recalled how he'd said his intention in coming to her at this time and place had been only to offer this invitation to her, rather than take her for his own. Even if he was already pushing the accepted limits of propriety, not once so far had the fellow been coarse with her or moved any closer toward her from his position – although for all she knew he could simply walk through the mirror. Yet now, not only was the offering her what could be her first and last chance to get her voice back, but he was saying he would respect her wishes if she turned him down…

Confound this man of contradictions! How dare he make it this difficult for her to form any sort of opinion about him! Never mind at this point how he and the mist surrounding him simply materialized out of nowhere and inside her mirror. Truly, whoever – or whatever – this man was, he had only proved himself to be quite the enigma, one paradox after another, the most prevalent being that he appeared to be both human and spirit at the same time.

Then again, would a ghost be so concerned with the plights of the living, let alone one in particular? Christine didn't think so. But what could she make of a man dressed in finery like those who afforded themselves base morals, yet had the bearing and the air of a gentleman? She sighed at not knowing whether he was more likely to be living or dead.

In the end, it all came down to what she was willing to risk on the slimmest of chances that her singing voice would be restored to her. A chance being offered her by a man she knew nothing of other than that he found it necessary to appear before her in her room at night, yet had otherwise treated her with the utmost respect. But then…Christine remembered how much she'd cherished that voice that had soothed her and put her at ease during a bad dream. Now it seemed she was standing before the one who – ghost or no – seemed to have gone out of his way to be kind enough to do that for her, and wanted to help her regain at least one thing the fire had stolen…

It was the barest minimum she had to form an impression of him. But it was all she had… Christine then took a deep breath, then turned again to face the man, her heart pounding yet her will unwavering.

"If I must make a decision tonight," she said, her voice the steadiest it had been all night, "then…I will come with you." For a brief second, Christine thought she saw his eyes widen. Still, she wasn't done. "However, you must promise – no, _swear_ to me that you will not hurt me in any way, nor spellbind me, nor act in any way I deem dangerous or manipulative."

"Oh, of course…" the man replied as he nodded his head deeply. "I swear upon my honor I will do nothing of the sort to you…"

_Is there honor among ghosts though?_ Christine wondered. She then spoke what was on her mind yet worded it differently. "Still, I must ask." She narrowed her eyes at him again. "How do I know you're not the sort to willfully break a promise, much less an oath?"

The shady character seemed to give her a thoughtful expression. "If I'd wanted to do anything like that to you, Mademoiselle, I would have done it upon my arrival…" he replied. "I've given you my word, but I suppose you must be willing take the risk to see the rest for yourself…" He then held his hand out toward her just as he did earlier, and added, "However, until you make your decision, my offer still stands, Christine…"

How oddly it seemed to affect her, the way he spoke her name, and she didn't know why; yet it didn't cause Christine to shiver as it had before. It seemed the only certain things about this person were the endless uncertainties about him. Even so, she'd already given him her answer, and she was not the sort of person to easily go back on their word – even if she'd given it to this strangest of men.

With another deep breath, Christine began to rise from her bed, when she remembered she wasn't exactly decent. She once again clutched her blankets to her chest, when she saw her dressing gown from earlier hanging from a chair on the opposite side of her. She looked back at the man and nodded her head toward the garment, hoping he would know what she was meaning.

He seemed to, as he nodded and said, "Of course. Pardon me." Though he still stood in the same place he'd been this whole time, the fellow looked away, granting her at least some privacy. Grateful for his reply, Christine hastily leaped from her bed. After putting her feet into slippers, she pulled the dressing gown over her head and then her nightdress. She knew it wasn't perhaps the best option to appropriately cover herself, but it was also her only one. She then cleared her throat to let the man know she was done, and he turned back toward her, silently holding his open hand out to her…beyond the looking glass of her mirror.

Her heart throbbing with both anxiety and anticipation, Christine took one final deep breath, closing her eyes and then opening them again. And when she saw that the otherworldly figure was still there, offering her his hand, she willed her feet to move toward the mirror. With every step, she cautiously yet eagerly extended her hand toward him a little further. And before she knew it, she was only one step away from being right in front of him… Barely holding back the urge to close her eyes again, Christine bit her lip…and finally put her hand in his.

For a split second, she was surprised at how warm the man's grasp was in spite of the fact that he wore gloves. But before she could think on that any longer, he gently tugged on her hand, and she quickly knew what he meant for her to do. Biting down on her lip even more, Christine put one leg past the frame of the mirror, followed by the other. It should not have been possible, and even she would've dismissed it had she not experienced it for herself. Yet it was as simple as if one were stepping inside a hole in the wall. Though she now knew there was no point in trying to reason all this out – including how the mist seemed to vanish upon her entering – Christine still couldn't help but wonder.

But her wonder increased all the more when she finally looked up at the man again, and realized her face was little more than half a dozen inches from his. Christine's eyes widened as she took advantage of this to look at him more closely.

His pale face didn't seem particularly handsome, at least to her. Though that was probably because one side of his likeness was masked. Going by what she could see, this person did appear similar in age to Raoul, who was twenty-five. Although, for all she knew, he might not possess an actual age at all.

But what struck Christine even more were the gray-green eyes that didn't seem to blink as they looked back at her own… If the eyes truly were the windows into a person's soul as it was commonly said, she could tell that this pair likely housed a rather…soulful creature. What put her considerably more at ease, however, was that she could not find the slightest hint of lust in his gaze. While she had detected passion, it was not the vulgar sort. There was another thing about him though, something…curious. But whatever it was, she couldn't name it as easily…

After what could have been either one minute or one hour, Christine's observations eventually led her to conclude that this man in front of her truly was not the sort who had a mind to treat her like another conquest. Indeed, he seemed quite the opposite. Upon her realization, she felt a rather warm blush emerge at the surface of her cheeks, though she couldn't find one sole reason as to why.

In any event, Christine felt the warmth turn into real heat as he did what any gentleman would do, yet not what she'd ever expected of him: he leaned forward and gently kissed her hand as though she were a lady. Her mouth fell open and her eyes went wide with astonishment as he stood straight again.

The man appeared to smile, but – as he'd done before – only slightly. Yet she could tell it was genuine. Neither his expression nor his tone of voice seemed mocking as he then said, "Very pleased that you could join me tonight, Mademoiselle…"

Christine only stared silently at him, until she realized she must look a complete imbecile, and shook her head briefly to return to her right mind. Once she did so, she gave him a much more stern look this time. "I am holding you to your word, Monsieur…" she warned him in a low voice.

He kept smiling at her. "As you should," he agreed. Still holding her hand, he stretched out his arm as if to show her the pathway they were meant to take. "Now then, shall we…?"

Christine didn't answer the man immediately. She was only just now taking in the new environment she'd just traded for her more familiar one. Since he'd directed his arm to her right, she looked that way…and her mouth once again came open as she found herself staring down a hallway unlike any she'd seen before.

While the floor was still wood – as it had been in her room – the walls and the ceiling looked as though they were made of pitch black rock. Not smooth stone, but rough and coarse like a rock one would find outdoors. Christine believed she was seeing a faint glow at the very end of the path, but it looked much too long for comfort, and the walls looked as though they might narrow in on her like some great mouth.

Just then, she felt her hand being squeezed, but in a way that felt comforting. Christine turned back to face the living shadow, but suddenly saw that he was now carrying a lit lantern in the hand that wasn't grasping hers. She could've sworn it hadn't been there before, yet it seemed to have come out of nowhere nonetheless. She then directed her gaze to the man, but he stayed silent as he gave her a questioning look. Unwilling to cause him – or herself – any impatience, she returned his small smile and nodded. "Let's."

He nodded back at her and said, "Allow me to lead us…" With one hand still holding hers and the other holding his lantern in front of them, he began the descent down the hallway, with Christine following not more than two steps behind.

Already, she was beginning to feel as though the walls were closing in on her. While she still didn't think the man leading her was entirely safe, he certainly felt much safer than anything else in here. She continued to let him lead her as she kept her other arm entirely to her side. Meanwhile, the light of the lantern guided them toward the end of the hall and whatever was giving off that ominous orange glow. It gradually got brighter the closer they got to it, and seemed almost welcoming to Christine, yet made her eager as ever to get out of this hallway.

Once they finally made it to the end, she saw that the golden-orange glow was coming from lit torches that had been placed aloft above the… Heaven have mercy. They were standing before a staircase that seemed to curve like a snake on its way down, with stone steps, no rails, and more of the pitch black walls that she thought would be behind them once they got here. Now that they would actually be going down rather than just getting to the other end of the hall on a straight path…

Still holding his lantern, the man in black took the first step down, but Christine was now hesitant to follow him. When she saw out of the corner of her eye and then saw that he was looking at her, silently asking her to come along, she decided to ask a question of her own. "Just…where exactly are we going?"

"You'll see for yourself when we get there…" he replied, without a hint of agitation. Christine could only sigh. Of course he wasn't going to tell her. Still, once she thought about it, it didn't seem as unsettling as the hallway, since there was a pair of torches above every twelfth step, and the man still had his lantern with him.

When she realized she was making him wait, she kept her hand in his while she gathered her skirts in the other. Christine bit her lip as she took the first step, then the second, gripping the masculine hand since there were no rails. But the more steps she took, the easier it seemed to get. Of course, it also helped that the man in front of her was moving at the same pace.

And yet, once they got past the first dozen steps, she unconsciously stopped and looked back up the winding stone staircase. The entrance was out of her sight. Before she could look much longer though, Christine felt on her lower jaw the touch of a hand, which then gently redirected her face back toward the one leading them.

Smiling softly at her, but only just, he said, "Best to not look behind, Mademoiselle, now that we've come this far… Moreover, you'll risk losing your footing…"

She only nodded in understanding. After which, the two of them resumed their journey down the stairs, down into Heaven-knew-what. And all the while, Christine tried and failed to ignore the way her heart was throbbing. While she did have this sense of dread not knowing where they were going, she also had the vaguest sense of enthusiasm. Still, all she knew for certain at the moment was that they were literally and figuratively descending into the unknown…and Christine could only hope that there was some sort of light at the end of this proverbial tunnel.

* * *

_Reviews would be appreciated._


	7. Chapter 7

Neither Christine nor her ghostly guide spoke further as they continued to make their way deeper down the stairs of stone. At least it didn't get darker every few steps; yet Christine couldn't help but notice the shadows the torches cast underneath them, like black arms reaching out to try and make her trip and fall. In an attempt to put her mind elsewhere, she focused on wondering where it really was that the two of them were going, and how it annoyed her that this troublesome man wouldn't tell her. Apparently he preferred to keep himself wrapped in his cloak of mystery – literally, it might as well be, as he already was wearing one.

In any event, while she had warmed up to him surprisingly quickly – given how he'd simply appeared out of nowhere, and the fact that she still knew neither his name nor his likeness – for those same reasons, Christine still didn't entirely trust him. She'd heard of a sideshow trick called mesmerism, a kind of hypnosis that was accomplished by the user performing magnetic passes with their hands around another person's head. Once the user had them in their mental grasp, they could get them to say and do almost anything, and the person could only return to their right mind by the user performing the passes backwards.

While Christine didn't think the mysterious man had done that specifically to her, that didn't mean he couldn't have other trance-inducing tools at his disposal; not to mention her distrust of stage magicians and illusionists in general. Even so, something within her compelled her to keep walking with him.

Christine then began to wonder when they were going to reach the bottom of the series of steps, since they seemed to be going further down than any other staircase she'd ascended and/or descended. Yet no sooner had she started thinking so than it appeared that they'd finally made it to the bottom, in front of an archway that seemed to have been carved from the same stone as the walls of the stairs.

The man in black stopped and waited for her to finish the last two steps. Even now though, he didn't let go of her hand. "Come…" he then said, directing his lantern toward the open archway. Without waiting for a response, he slowly walked them under the black stone arch, and it felt to Christine like emerging from a church alcove. Such a thought then caused the question that had remained on her mind from the beginning to return. Was this a man of flesh and bone or pure spirit?

Once they were past the entryway though, they found themselves on what appeared to be a large, rectangular stone platform. Christine felt her eyes widen – for perhaps the umpteenth time this evening – at the scene upon which they'd arrived. It looked as though the world of the light and the world of the dark had combined to create a sight more breathtaking than any she'd seen in a long time.

Silvery white mist – like that she'd seen before in the mirror – floated like earthbound clouds just above what appeared to be an underground lake. But the more Christine looked around, the more she could see that this looked nothing like the sewer she imagined lying underneath the Opera House. Indeed, it much more resembled an elaborate crypt that had been flooded – the thought immediately making her hope this didn't house thousands of bones and skulls like the fabled Catacombs of Paris.

Redirecting her thoughts elsewhere, she saw rows of arches – much like one would find in a crypt – made of blueish-black…stones or bricks? She couldn't tell. But she did marvel at how high the arches seemed to stretch, perhaps a whole story. The ceiling appeared to be another story above them, with countless drops of water holding to it giving the illusion of a star-filled night. And when Christine looked lower again, she could see why. Every few yards there sat a lit torch in a sconce, much like the ones that lit the way down the stone staircase. The flames seemed to dance merrily, and even more so when she saw them reflected in the water, which otherwise looked as black as to be a sea of ink…one which she could not determine the depth of.

"Lovely, is it not…?" a familiar voice suddenly spoke, making Christine flinch. She looked toward the end of the platform on her right and realized it was the masked man who'd guided her here, smiling his small smile.

Though Christine didn't want to admit it, she nonetheless nodded. "Indeed," she breathed. "I didn't think such a place could look so beautiful."

"Oh but there's far more to see…" The man then directed his hand to his right, and Christine had to step closer to see what he was gesturing towards.

She gasped lightly in surprise when she saw that it was a small gondola, like those she'd seen in photographs and paintings of the Italian city of Venice. It appeared to be made of ebony and had gilded gold decorating the edges. She also noticed that her guide had hung his lantern from the front end. And now, it appeared that he was inviting her to join him.

But rather than say she'd never ridden in such a boat before, Christine shook her head as she said, "Oh no, I…I couldn't impose."

The man gave her an oddly suspicious look. "Would you prefer to swim instead…?" he asked. Christine knew immediately that it was a rhetorical question, given that the ink-black water now looked even more unimaginably deep than when she first saw it, if such a thing were possible. While she had gone swimming on plenty of occasions in her life, such had been years ago during her summer visits with Raoul and his family. And she wouldn't be surprised if she'd forgotten how to tread water since then.

Christine shook her head again. "No," she replied, chuckling nervously. "I suppose I will take the boat." She stepped forward, but the man held up a hand for her to stop. And she quickly saw why.

Being the gentleman he was – thus far – he stepped into the boat first, and with balanced ease, as though he'd done this many times already. For a moment, Christine could only stare at the vessel. While it didn't look so small as to be uncomfortable, it didn't look all that large either. She was beginning to wonder if she'd have as much fortune keeping herself balanced, when she noticed the man in the cape was holding an open hand out toward her.

Well, she'd already gone down and ominous looking hallway and then descended a stone staircase with no rails. With that thought in mind, Christine stepped forward; and for the second time that night, though she hesitated a bit more this time, she took the man's gloved hand.

"Sit, in front of me…" he instructed her. Biting her lip again, Christine took up her skirts in her other hand and then quickly put one foot, followed by the other, into the boat. It bobbed upon her entry, and she held tightly onto the man's hand as she sat down in haste. Only when she found a comfortable position and felt steady enough did she let go, and breathe a sigh of relief.

For a second, she thought she heard the man standing behind her chuckle. "You'll get used to it, in time…" he assured her. Christine started wondering what he meant, when a force that felt like a cold wind seemed to flow past her, and even into her, as she hugged herself and began to shiver.

She straightened immediately upon feeling the touch of the man's hand on her shoulder. "Mademoiselle, are you cold…?" he asked, genuine concern seeming to lace his words.

"Only…only a little," Christine replied. "I'm fine." But it became clear to both her and he that her chattering teeth were saying otherwise.

Christine was beginning to hope she wouldn't shiver enough to make the boat bob more to and fro, when she suddenly felt a rather warm cloak being wrapped around her. She recognized it in an instant, but she still looked behind, and saw that the masked man had indeed given her his cape.

"Thank…you," Christine said as she took the cape with both hands, trying to grit her teeth to keep them from chattering. "But…what about you? Won't you…be cold?"

"Oh, no worry…" the man shook his head at her. "Indeed, I'm accustomed to environments far colder than this…" Struck with curiosity, Christine wanted to ask what he meant. But before she could, he took up the long pole on his left. She turned around where she sat; and right as she did, the man in black began to row them forward into the dimly lit yet hauntingly beautiful labyrinth that awaited them.

* * *

Though it felt quite unnerving at first, Christine began to relax again the further they traveled. While twiddling with the stout, messy braid that hung over her shoulder certainly helped, so too did the knowledge that she wasn't alone, even if her companion did appear to be of a ghostly nature. That theory though gradually dwindled as she remembered how she'd held his hand twice, when in all other such stories she'd heard, trying to touch a ghost was like trying to touch empty air. Moreover, she smiled softly at the warmth his cape generously provided. It felt soothing and comforting…much as his voice had…

Although they hadn't spoken since they'd departed about five minutes ago, Christine shifted slightly in her seat. While she wasn't fully facing him, she only wanted to make sure he heard her voice more clearly. "Pardon me, but I must know…" Christine trailed off, feeling strangely shy at what she wanted to ask. Still, she forced the words out of her mouth. "That was you, wasn't it…? That night, just over a week ago? And then yesterday evening, when I was trying to sing? That voice was yours, wasn't it?"

A moment of silence passed between them before the man – while continuing the row the boat – replied, "Indeed, it was I, Mademoiselle… I have no shame out of which I must hide it…"

"But…why?" Christine asked. "Why comfort me like that – and not just once but twice – when we hadn't met each other before tonight?"

Another moment of silence before another reply. "What sort of decent man would lack so much honor so as to not come to the aid of a lady in distress…?"

Upon hearing those words, Christine looked away slightly as she felt the instantaneous and immense heat of a blush dust her cheeks. She wasn't used to being spoken to in such a way by such a man. And yet, somehow, it felt rather…nice.

But right before her eyes could close, she opened them again, as she now had something else to ask him. "What of last night though? Why did you sing along with me, when it was rather clear to myself that I was doing horribly?"

"I was singing your praises," her companion explained, "because you were trying… That you would still try even after ten years tells me you're not quite ready to yield up your voice just yet…"

Christine let out a small sigh as she took in the words that touched her even more than the previous ones. Why would a complete stranger be so moved as to do what he could to help her get her voice back…? She shook her head the moment she realized she was letting her emotions drift. Clearly, she was treading on dangerous ground. Only as long as she gripped her feelings tightly to her could she be sure that this man she still knew next to nothing of was not taking advantage of her.

Even so, wanting to be entirely sure that this man was telling the truth, Christine spoke slightly more sternly, "Prove it to me then. Would you be willing to do at least that much?"

Though she half-expected him not to, she was still a bit surprised when the man still rowing the boat replied, "As you wish, Mademoiselle…"

Christine shifted back fully to the front again and clutched the ends of the cape a bit more tightly around her. She steeled herself against any possible seduction as she focused her sight straight ahead at a faint glow in the distance, which much resembled that of the torches she saw upon entering that hallway through her mirror in the beginning. The man behind her continued to row them toward it…and began to sing.

_"Won't you wait patiently for me…?_

_I have not forgotten you…_

_Whether in daylight or darkness_

_I'll always be true…"_

In spite any mental preparations she could've taken, Christine could not deny in any way just how pleasant his voice sounded to her ears. Indeed, had she not heard for herself, she would not have believed it was possible for a human being to sound so…ethereal. And as one would suppose, the harder she tried to keep herself from admiring this man's otherworldly singing, the more she found herself captivated by it.

_"Let me embrace_

_You in your sorrow…_

_You aren't alone at all…"_

_"Truly, your face_

_Will smile tomorrow…_

_I will not let you fall…"_

Both the words and how he sang them seemed to touch something deep within Christine as she continued to listen. Though she might have fiercely clung to her reservations before, she found herself truly wanting to believe what she did initially when she first stepped through her mirror and saw this man up close for the first time. She wanted to believe his soul was of the noble sort. But what could she know for certain of this man who seemed to so easily dodge her efforts at deduction left and right?

He continued to sing, and she continued to relax. His voice was so gentle and so comforting that, though she kept sitting up, Christine felt her eyelids start to droop – and behind them she could still see and feel the faint yet warm glow of the lantern hanging at the front of the boat. She'd been trying so hard to keep her senses together at this point that her head actually began to hurt. She sighed and put her hand to her forehead in an effort to soothe it, even as she kept listening to the man's spiritual sounding voice. Indeed, she was beginning to wonder if angels really could do better than he…

* * *

The next thing Christine knew, she felt a hand touching her shoulder and heard someone softly speak her name. Suddenly filled with new strength, she blinked her eyes open, though it took a bit longer than usual to bring her vision into focus. She was still in the gondola, and still in the haunting darkness of the labyrinth. But she was in a different area than she last remembered being in. She was in a smaller, darker tunnel, being rowed closer to a brighter glowing light than the last one she recalled, this one also hiding beyond a corridor on the right rather than the left. It wasn't until then though that the girl remembered she wasn't alone.

"Wha-?" Christine strained. "Where…?" She rubbed one eye, then the other, and then cleared her throat. "H-how long have we been traveling through here?"

"Around fifteen minutes…" the male voice behind her replied. She then thought she heard him chuckle. "Patience, Mademoiselle… We're almost there…"

Christine was about to ask him where they almost were, when they began to turn the corridor. Her already open mouth widened more – along with her eyes – in awe at the first sight that greeted them.

From the ceiling that towered at least two stories overheard hung four small elaborate chandeliers – taking the shape of a square – with an even larger and grander chandelier in the very center. All of them – especially the great one in the middle – looked as though they were made of sparkling silver and gold crystal. The candles that lit them certainly made such an appearance seem all the more convincing. Indeed, their combined radiance was so strong that for a moment, Christine had to put her hand in front of her eyes until they finally started to adjust after so much darkness and dim light. It was as if the sun had somehow descended from the sky and made its home in this labyrinth, as though this place was its abode every night between dusk and dawn.

"Beautiful…" Christine breathed when they passed under them. She even turned around a bit in her seat so she could continue to gaze at how dazzling they were.

"Is it not…?" the man still rowing the boat asked her. Christine looked to him, and for a brief second, she thought that the light from the chandeliers made his small smile look a little bit brighter. "But look ahead… We're about to arrive…"

Christine shifted back around to the front, and her eyebrows raised when she saw what appeared to be a large metal portcullis, much like one a person would see at a centuries-old castle. Though she couldn't see too well what caused the new glow that lay beyond it, she nervously anticipated whatever it could be.

The man halted the boat a few feet from the gate. Christine was wondering how he was going to get it open, since she couldn't see any latches or levers or keyholes. But mere seconds after they stopped, as if simply obeying a silent command, the portcullis began to rise from the water until it was fully lifted, allowing them access inside.

Christine's thoughts flew fast through her mind as she tried to think of a reasonable solution, until she remembered how crewmen in the Opera House had pulled off similar feats of stage magic in past shows, with trapdoors and gunpowder and the like. More than likely there was probably some sort of switch in the water beneath them that the man simply touched with his rowing pole.

Whatever the case, once they passed underneath the raised gate, Christine's focus had landed solely on what the man in the mask was now rowing them toward.

This part of the labyrinth was different from the rest she'd already seen. While the architecture was much the same – with the blueish-black walls of either brick or stone – that was where the similarity ended. Rather than just another tunnel or series of tunnels, this looked like a rather large room, and one that appeared lived in at that. On either side of Christine and her guide were a pair of large gilded-silver candelabras, stretching tall out of the water in a way that made them resemble human hands. The collective glow from their candles provided only just enough illumination to the room to help Christine gaze all around it. The only other source of light was that of what was most likely the moon, shining through a small, circular, stained-glass window sitting just underneath the ceiling, which stretched at least one story high.

From the black water, Christine could see emerging steps that led to a large platform much like the one she and the man behind her had departed from; only the steps and the platform itself seemed to be made of worn marble rather than stone. Moreover, rather than being rectangular, this platform encompassed the opposite side of the room in either a half oval or circle shape, appearing to resemble a sort of dais. On both the far left and far right were dark corridors, though Christine could only guess where they led. And in the very center of the room, flanked on either side by a tall gilded-silver candle-stand and a couple of small stacks of wooden crates that stretched about half as high, sat what she supposed was a sort of keyboard instrument. Although, the shadows obscured much of it from her view.

Nonetheless, Christine could scarcely believe her eyes. It looked very much like the sort of place one would read about in a Gothic novel. So eerie, yet so lovely. Never did she think that such a place could actually exist; and yet here she was, right in the midst of it.

So fixated was she on the beauty of this chamber, that she flinched slightly when an open hand suddenly reached her field of vision. Christine quickly realized whose hand it was though, and took hold of it with hers. Only when she was halfway to her feet though did she remember she was still in the boat, as it quickly began to rock underneath her weight. Indeed, had the man in the handsome black suit not hastily grasped her other hand, she might very well have fallen into the water; the thought sent a chill through her.

Even so, once she regained her balance, the man allowed her to lift her skirts just high enough, and then proceeded to help her out of the boat and up the steps to the platform. Once they were on the same level, Christine turned slightly and realized she'd left in the boat his cape which he'd given her earlier. But when she looked back at him again, he either didn't seem to notice or didn't mind.

In any event, in keeping with his gentleman persona, the masked man bowed gracefully before her and said, "I bid you welcome to my humble abode, Mademoiselle Daaé…"

Christine looked briefly around the room again. Though she'd already guessed it was so when they arrived, still she couldn't help but ask, "This…is where you live?"

"Indeed…" the man replied, smiling softly once more at her. "I am assuming by the way you're taking it all in that I've made a good first impression…? If I am correct, then I am pleased to have done so…"

Christine nodded. "It is most unusual, but…most beautiful, too…" In the back of her mind, she was warning herself once again about being too drawn into a possible seduction. But no matter how much she might have guarded herself, she could not deny how ominously dreamlike this labyrinth chamber was. Even then though, one question remained to be answered. "I must ask, though. Why live in such a place as this?"

"I believed you would think it unorthodox…" the man nodded in agreement at her. But then, he seemed to frown almost sadly as he replied further, "In truth, this is the only possible dwelling place for one such as I… This is the only possible place for me to erect my shrine to my mistress that is music…"

Though Christine was curious about what he meant by his first answer, she was even more eager to know what he meant by his second. "You make music here?" she asked.

The man's smile seemed to return, but only barely. "But of course…" he replied. "What fellow sings who does not know how to enjoy music…?" Christine then watched as he strode over to the shadowed keyboard instrument. He took up what she quickly learned was a match, as he struck it against the wall and summoned a small flame at the tip. The man then reached and lit the first candle-stand on the left, after which he walked over and did the same to the one on the right.

At last, Christine could finally see what the instrument in the middle looked like. And her face seemed to light up along with the candle-stands in wonder. Never had she seen such a grand upright piano. It appeared strongly built, yet Christine was hesitant to even get near it out of fear of breaking it. The dark mahogany wood looked both old and young at the same time as it reflected the glow of the lit candle-stands. And of course, she could only guess how the instrument sounded when someone was playing it. Someone in particular, like the man in black still before her.

"I put it together myself, you know…" he explained as he stroked the piano like one would a beloved pet. "I prefer to have my instruments be built a certain way, so that they will sound a certain way when I use them…"

Christine only nodded again, as she was at this point running out of words to put her wonder and awe into at everything she was seeing. Except perhaps for one thing.

She pointed at the wooden boxes stacked on either side of the piano and asked, "What about those? The crates, I mean. What are they for?"

The man softly smiled at her once again. "Well, I must have places of storage in which to house all my compositions, mustn't I…?" Though Christine had an idea that that was their purpose, she still couldn't help but silently ask another question, which the masked man was pleased to answer. "This is but a small fraction of my collection of self-made compositions… The ones I currently keep here are the most recent… The rest are stored away in the room that the tunnel behind me leads to…"

Christine looked over his shoulder at what he was talking about, and as much as she wondered how many compositions he had stored in only one room, there was another more pressing issue on her mind. "Would you then be so kind as to play your piano, Monsieur? Just so I know that your word is the truth?"

She thought she saw the corners of the man's mouth turn upward even more, but only slightly. "It would be my pleasure, Mademoiselle…" he nodded deeply. "May my humble attempt please you…" He then walked over and took the seat in front of the piano. Christine patiently anticipated what she was already preparing her ears to hear while the master of the house removed his black leather gloves, until he finally put his hands to the keys…

The affect on her was much the same as it was when he'd sung to her while they were in the boat. It felt as though something warm were being poured into her, and it made every muscle in her body relax upon hearing the first few notes. Yet Christine also watched as the man played. With skill, precision, and obvious love of his craft, the man's hands appeared to glide effortlessly across the keyboard. Not once did he ever miss a note, nor did his hands ever stumble while he played the melody that seemed to have found a way into her soul. Indeed, if she didn't know any better, she'd say this man's talent was like that of other previous musical masters rolled into one. Playing the piano in such a way seemed to have come as naturally to him as it did to Mozart, yet there was also the gentle yet very much evident passion that often accompanied the works of Beethoven.

The melody continued to captivate her with ease, the notes sounding like raindrops echoing around the chamber, until the man at last ceased playing and turned around in his seat to face her. "Mademoiselle…?"

Christine had to shake her head briefly to take back at least some control of her senses. Realizing that the man in front of her had spoken to her, asking her opinion, she couldn't say much other than the words that unconsciously left her lips. "That was…oh, that was simply…splendid…beautiful…" And with those words came the curiosity of what it would sound like if he were singing and playing at the same time…

Just then, Christine gasped as she finally realized what was happening to her, what her mind had been warning her about this whole time, yet she'd ignored it. She was falling under this mysterious man's spell, and no wonder, given how stunning this room appeared, and how he seemed to almost entrance her with his voice and then his music on the piano. She needed to get a hold of herself. She needed to remind herself of whom…or what…she was dealing with. Anything less would be giving in, which was entirely unacceptable.

"Mademoiselle…?" the man then asked, the concern in his voice sounding true. "Is something wrong…?" Christine turned to face him again. She now knew she had to get away from here – and from him – as soon as possible. But how?

The answer came to her surprisingly fast when she let out a genuine yawn. "Pardon me," she sighed. "I fear I'm getting rather tired." Fortunately, the man nodded as he accepted her issue, or at least appeared to.

Against her wishes though, he stood from his seat and walked toward her. Christine hoped mightily that he didn't feel the slight shiver that traveled through her when she felt the masked man's bare hand on her shoulder.

"Forgive my ill manners…" he apologized, much as he had earlier when they first met. "Truly, I didn't intend for the journey down here to last so long…" Christine gave him a confused look, when he added, "Now, this may seem a bit forward, but it's the least I can do…" He then gestured toward the alcove opposite the one that led to his storage room. "Would you mind taking my bed, Mademoiselle…?"

As he'd must have expected, Christine's eyes – though getting sleepier by the minute – widened like brown saucers at his suggestion, and the implications usually associated with such an offer. "I promise you," the ghostly yet gentlemanly man attested, "I have no intention of sharing it with you… In any event, I do most of my sleeping during the day anyway…" When he got no immediate response from her, he attempted to placate her further by saying, "I am afraid the only other option is the marble floor…"

Well, unfortunately, he did have a point in that, Christine admitted. And she really was beginning to feel her strength and energy leave her, rapidly. She wasn't often up this late; although, ever since she stepped through the mirror she'd quite forgotten to measure time. For all she knew, a whole other day could have passed while she was down here.

Even so, Christine knew such a scenario was unlikely. But she knew also that her body was aching for rest. While certainly repulsed at first by the man's offer, she had to be fair and remind herself that she had thought much the same of the man himself when she first saw him earlier. Yet the entire time he was with her, he'd treated her like nothing less than a lady.

Hoping things would once again turn out to be in her favor, Christine nodded. "I suppose I will take your bed…" She yawned again, but then looked directly and sternly at her host. "But only for tonight. We're agreed?"

"Of course we are agreed…" he nodded. He then offered his hand – his now bare hand – and asked, "May I then, Mademoiselle…?" As she did before when he offered his hand from inside her mirror, Christine hesitated. Not just because of where he intended to take her this time, but also the fact that there would now be nothing to keep her skin from touching his. She still didn't know all that much about him…or his nature…

Yet whatever the case might have been, Christine told herself that there was only one way to find out. Biting her lip again in her usual nervous habit, she eventually did put her hand in his…

Once she did, she knew this certainly was the strongest piece of evidence so far against his being a ghost. How strangely it made her feel to have his warm skin – his touchable, human skin – next to hers. While they were only holding hands, something even small children did, it felt oddly intimate to Christine. Indeed, rather than being alarmingly inappropriate, it felt not just nice but natural even.

But she was brought back to freely moving time again when the man gently tugged her hand. "Come," he persuaded her. Taking a deep breath, Christine nodded, and allowed her mysterious guide to once again lead her to their destination – this time through the alcove.

Once they were both enveloped in pitch black shadow, the man still holding her hand took out another match and struck it from the wall. He then reached up and lit a small torch in a sconce just above him. With new light to show them away, they proceeded through the tunnel, Christine all the while trying to ignore how her heart was now beating like mad – and for more than one reason.

Barely half a minute passed before they found themselves in complete darkness once more. Just as he did only a moment earlier, the man lit another match and used it to light another torch before he blew it out. Even before they stepped through the bare doorway, Christine was starting to see something resembling a room. One much like hers, in fact, when the man then lit two more small torches in sconces, one on the left and one on the right.

"I do not usually have company here…" the man explained before chuckling slightly, and somewhat bitterly. "But I hope it is at least to your liking…" Christine nodded, but truly, she wasn't paying much attention. She was too busy gazing about the room as she had when they first arrived in his labyrinthine home.

With perhaps the exception of the walls and floor that appeared to be made of rock or more marble – and the rather luxurious Persian rug in the center of the floor – this chamber did indeed resemble hers. Not only was there a bed in the center. There was also a chest of drawers on the left, and a sort of dresser with a water jug and basin on her right. It all looked rather organized and neat than what Christine had once imagined a bachelor's lodgings must otherwise look like – especially those of one who seemed to dwell in a cave.

At this point though, while the state of the bed did appear rather decent, Christine didn't feel the need to ask permission, but simply walked over and sighed as she finally sat down on the mattress. She was starting to get so tired, she would've taken just about any bed that looked inviting. She hoped the rest of the bed felt as nice as the mattress initially did.

Suddenly, she was jolted awake again when she felt the pressure of someone sitting on the bed beside her. Her alarm returned fully when she saw it was the man who'd guided her here. Indeed, she found her hands almost itched to hit him, when he quickly held up his hand at her. "I told you," he reassured her, "I do not intend to go any farther than this…" His grayish-green eyes – so full of heart and soul – looked directly at her as he added, "I only wished to know if you had anything else you'd like to say to me…"

Christine wanted to give him a rather snarky remark, joke about how he was treading thin ice whatever his intentions were. And yet, she somehow couldn't… Instead, she wanted to tell him wholeheartedly what her feelings were… His eyes seemed to awaken a longing in her to reveal to him all her struggles and troubles… When she finally managed to pull herself back in at the last second.

"Indeed, I do," she breathed. "And I'll be brief." Choosing her words carefully, lest he get the wrong sort of idea, she continued, "I may not know who you are, I may still not know fully what to make of you, but, considering everything that's happened lately, I suppose I should thank you for your kindness and generosity." The corners of the man's mouth turned up again in that way that Christine was beginning to find charming.

"But there is one more thing I must know here and now," she added before he could say anything. Looking him straight in the eyes like she wanted to see if he was truly made of opaque flesh, she felt her voice quiver, yet still asked, "Are you a ghost…or…no…?"

His smile seemed to falter. Still, he sounded somewhat delighted to answer. "I suppose it depends on what definition of the word you're using…" Christine thought about that for a moment, before he added, "If we're going by the strict definition of the word, I can assure you that I am most certainly a living, breathing man…"

Even then, Christine wasn't entirely sure about that. But it was at least an acceptable answer. Yet she decided to make her opinion known. "Still, you don't seem fully a man either," she shook her head. "At least, not with a voice such as yours…" Christine trailed off when she realized she'd landed on a far more satisfactory explanation. Looking right back at the man sitting on the end of the bed, she asked, "An angel then?"

The man tipped his head slightly to one side like a dog attempting to understand. Indeed, for a moment he looked as confused as she. Before long, however, he seemed to like the term, as evidenced by his small smile returning. "An angel then…" he echoed her words.

_Then that is what I shall call you_, Christine thought, Angel… She opened her mouth to speak the sentiment, when her breath was suddenly captured by another yawn, and a much bigger one than before. "Pardon me…" she strained.

"Oh no, not at all…" the man shook his head at her. Then, slightly more awkwardly, he added, "I was actually going to ask…if you would want me to sing one more time…if it would help you sleep, of course…"

As much as she'd been wanting to keep herself from being charmed, Christine couldn't resist the temptation to hear his voice again in her sleep. "Believe it or not," she replied softly, "I'd be delighted…" She trailed off again as she let out another, smaller yawn. She could ignore her tired state no longer, and so thus allowed herself to stretch out on the bed on her side.

The next thing Christine knew, a gentle – and now familiar – voice was filling her ears once again, while an even gentler hand lightly stroked her hair. Even if this man was still largely unknown and a stranger to her, he'd made her feel more comforted, more special, than she had in such a long time. Despite her opposition to be drawn in by anything about him, she couldn't deny he'd been very much the gentleman. And while he'd come closer to her than she would otherwise allow any man who wasn't her father, a relative, or a husband, she found herself wanting to bask in his presence forever. His voice sounded as though it found a way to express the beauty of night through sound. It touched something within her deeply. Something she hadn't realized existed. Something that made her want to leave this complicated world for the land of dreams that eventually welcomed her…

* * *

_Reviews would be appreciated._


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